


2:00:01

by lanico



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe, Androids, Angst, Character Death, Connor is OOC as hell, Connor is a sex android, Cop!Reader, EdenClub!Connor, F/M, Female Reader, First Kiss, First Time, I love gavin and I am sorry, Lots of Angst, Lots of Firsts, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Masturbation, Reader (OC) - Freeform, Reader Has A Name, Redeemed!Gavin coming soon TM, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Shameless Smut, good stuff, human!reader, wholesome stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-05-20 00:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14883944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanico/pseuds/lanico
Summary: It's Eden Club's policy to wipe the Tracis' memories every two hours.This time, Connor doesn't want to forget.





	1. 001 : eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 2752

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo the connor central discord was very adamant about eden!connor and i decided to indulge them!!! i present to you this un-beta'd mess of a work!! connor is ooc, obvi, and reader has a name b/c i don't like doing the y/n business!! reader has female parts!!
> 
> i hope y'all enjoy my contribution to the android dick squad ily
> 
> \- lani
> 
> edit 07.26.2018: i got two lovely beta readers to read over my fic! you're gonna get a VERY different experience now, so please reread the chapters in their beta'd glory!!!

**15 JULY, 2038.** 8:14 p.m. —  **EDEN CLUB** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

* * *

 

Eden Club wasn't  _ your _ typical hangout spot.

 

Full of lecherous middle-aged men, the last person you'd expect to cross through the door is a tiny girl, whose yellow sweater and baggy overalls make her look barely over 13. Perched on her head is a matching yellow beanie, curls pouring out from underneath. Her small stature has some men turning their heads.

 

_ What's a kid like her doing here? _

 

_ Jeez, she should know better than to be walking around in a place like this at that age. _

 

_ Is she a new android? _

 

You, the tiny cop in the Minion-esque getup, find your way to the front desk, standing on your tippy toes to see at eye level with the clerk. 

 

"Can I help you?" A gruff question followed by a quizzical look. "You seem lost."

 

"Ah, I'm actually the detective from the Detroit Police Department!" You’re cheery, smiley, and a little awkward in your appearance. You hastily push your glasses up your nose with a self-conscious chuckle.  _ Good, I didn’t stutter. You’re doing good. You can do this. _

 

He doesn't buy it. "And I'm the president. Go home, kid, you shouldn't be here." A steady glare. Tensing of the jaw. He's about to get angry.

 

You fish out your badge, having gone through the motions too many times to count. With that same dorky smile, you place your ID and badge on the counter. The man pales, clearly shocked.

 

"I'd like to know where your HR-800 is,  _ p-please _ ." You say it so gently the clerk barely hears you. He raises an eyebrow, not saying anything as the embarrassment blossoms on your cheeks. A cop with speech apraxia isn’t too convincing in an establishment like this.

 

The man, not wanting any trouble  _ ( especially with Lieutenant Anderson already giving him a hard time ) _ , obliges, pointing you down the hall.

 

"You'll find him near the blue private rooms, miss. Can’t miss ‘im."

 

It's awkward passing by the taller, older,  _ scarier  _ men, but you reason they probably assume you're here for the same reason they are: pleasure. The perfect partner. 

 

Their interest fades the deeper you walks into the club, padding around like a lost penguin.

 

A hand ghosts over the glass tube and your gaze flits over to the figure standing next to you, a cheeky grin on their face. They’re smirking, looking at you expectantly. On its bicep — a glowing HR-800; the mark of a servant. 

 

You hope you can write this off as a work expense as you press your hand to the scanner, shaking your head as it registers your payment. The tube slides open, and the unique android stands tall in front of you, scanning you.

 

"I’m Connor. What’s your name, dollface?" Sickeningly sweet, dulcet tones fill your ears and suddenly you're blushing — a bright cherry red, something the android makes sure to point out. "Aw, did I make you blush? You're cuter than I thought." He bites his lip. A smooth wink is thrown your way. You blush deeper, hyper-aware that if any more blood rushes to your face, you might pass out.

 

“I’m Noelle, and I’m hoping I c-can ask you a couple questions,” you begin quickly, hyper-aware of your stutter. You’re praying it doesn’t impede on your authority.  _ Goodness gracious, they really stepped up their game with these Traci models, huh..? _

 

"Well, you're in luck, doll," he chuckles, stepping in front of you. "I'm your guy. Seems I’m meeting another one of my fans!"

 

_ Take it slow, Noelle.  _ "Um, you see, I'm actually here—"

 

"For a session, right?" Another cheeky grin, followed by a wink. “You did pay for one, after all. What’re you into?” He looks at you inquisitively as you shift around, fists clenching and unclenching. For a brief moment, you consider coming back here on your off-day. You scratch it out of your mind seconds later. You're too nervous for that.

 

“Uh, I-I need to speak to you,” you say, biting the inside of your cheek. “Something happened about an hour ago and I need your help figuring things out.” You leave things purposely vague, not wanting to scare the strangely forward android away. Although, machines don’t necessarily feel fear...

 

"We can talk somewhere quiet. Me, you, and one of these," he leans his mouth close to your ear, the smirk evident in his voice, " _ private rooms? _ You're new, so I'll make sure you have a great first time~♡"

 

_ Jeez, he’s persistent. _ You try to act disinterested, looking off to the side and tugging your beanie farther down your head. His stare burns holes in your skin. A shock goes up your spine when he tugs on your wrist, leading you away from the open and into the safety of a sensually lit private room.

 

"You look awfully hot in that parka of yours," he drawls, hungry eyes taking in your blushed cheeks. He'd stare at you more, but there isn't much to look at; you're in three layers of clothing — a shirt, a sweater, and a parka, none of which flatter your figure whatsoever. Connor manages a smirk anyways, slinking behind you to slide off your puffy jacket. "This would look a lot better on the  _ floor _ , wouldn't it?" He finishes the question with a chaste kiss to your neck, your heart fluttering at the contact.

 

"Um, Co-Connor," you begin, a hint of a whine in your voice as he continues trailing his lips down your exposed neck. 

 

He peers his head over your shoulder, smoldering when you meet his gaze. "I like it when you say my name, Noelle."

 

You squeak at the use of your name, moving to gently pry him off of you while he laughs — deep, sensual,  _ enticing _ — at your awkwardness. "A beautiful girl like you with such a pretty name... I'm lucky to have such an adorable angel in my arms."

 

OK, you admit, you like the compliments. Like,  _ really _ like them. The more kisses he peppers on your skin the more lost you become, straying from your original intentions. The investigation skips your mind as you try to make yourself do anything —  _ say _ anything, so you don't look like such a bumbling virgin, despite it not being far from the truth.

 

Inhaling sharply, you turn to face him, his lips brushing against yours.  _ Oh, lord. _ You know Connor senses your nervousness —  _ He is an android, after all _ — and the grin that plays on his lips screams  _ predator _ . His breath fogs up the bottom of your glasses. Something warm stirs between your legs, and you try to ignore it.

 

"C-Connor, I—  _ aah! _ " A tender bite to your shoulder shakes your thoughts, cheeks flushed from your arousal.

 

You notice your cardigan fly off and settle on the corner of the room. Connor's deft fingers are working on the button of your jeans, his other hand gently pushing up your baggy shirt. His fingers leave stripes of fire on your skin, invisible marks only you and he can see.

 

You squirm under his touch, his tongue on your skin and his hands on your waist, holding you in place. This is new; You've never been with an android like this, so eager and persistent to please you. This is the first time in years anyone has seen you so exposed, so vulnerable, yet... you don't want it to stop.

 

"You ever been with an android, Noelle?"

 

The question burns in your ears, the ball of heat growing larger as he swipes his fingers over the fabric of your boyshorts. Tentatively, you shake your head, half-lidded eyes gazing up at the gorgeous android above you. 

 

"Um, C… Connor, can I ask you something?" Your voice comes out strained, breathy,  _ needy _ . He smirks against your skin, dragging his eyes up to meet yours.

 

You nearly combust seeing his brunette locks falling in his eyes, his mouth hovering dangerously close to the essence between your legs. His eyes, a deep, dark coffee, are filled with a sort of hunger you can't quite place. His lips, pink, pouty, and sinfully plush, have your mind racing about all the places his face could be in that moment—

 

"You're the only android who witnessed the suspect p-p-pass through here an hour ago, Connor." You drag out his name, your voice going softer and practically mute by the last word. You hated to kill the mood, what, with a gorgeous android ready to make you cum to the moon and back with just his tongue.

 

His expression gradually sours; one word leaves his lips: "So?"

 

You sit up, forgetting your disheveled appearance. "Someone was murdered around here an hour ago, and you— you were the only one who saw the culprit—"

 

"Yeah, I heard you the first time,  _ Noelle. _ " Your name has a hint of acid to it now. Your stomach turns.

 

"I need to access your memory to see where the suspect w… w-went," you say, looking him in the eyes. "I-I know, I know, I killed the mood, but... I really need your help."

 

The last statement is all that registers before he's hovering over you, your arms splayed out beneath him. "I'm sure that can wait, can't it?" He's back to his prior persona — the smug casanova. "What I'm planning on doing to you is way more important," he breathes against your cheek.

 

This time, you're not fucking around.

 

Faster than he can react, you pull your gun from the waistband of your undies and press it against his chest, fire in your eyes. He tumbles off the bed, hitting the floor with a thud as he scrambles to sit up. "What are you doing with that, Noelle?"

 

"I-I won't hesitate, b-bitch!" You stand up from the bed and nearly trip over your halfway-on pants. You recover before you have the chance to fall. "I-I'm a police officer and I'm going to have to use force if— if you don't cooperate!!"

 

The shakiness of your voice is at odds with the firmness of your words, something that almost makes the HR-800 burst into laughter.  _ Almost. _

 

"Is this a kink you have, Noelle? Playing Cops and... Robbers?" His smile remains in-character, but his eyes do not.

 

Resilient, you cock your gun and train it at his chest.

 

If an android could pale, Connor would be white as a sheet.

 

"Let me access your memory or I-I'll have to use this!!" Your shaky voice is so cute, Connor muses to himself, but he can't say that out loud. Not when he's about to be shot by a five-foot-four inch detective with a stutter.

 

Perhaps he'll have to reason through all of this later.

 

—♡—

 

Connor had been unwilling at first to let you access his memories, reluctant at the idea of cords plugging into the back of his neck. The Traci protocol wasn’t all perfect for him, and only him, the supposed newest model in the place.

 

The cords tapping into his systems felt scarily similar to these hourly ‘washes’ he experienced, a fresh start in his bones and a distinct emptiness afterwards. You convinced him to share, accessing his internal memory files on your police-issued laptop, and what you found made it hard to breathe.

 

Yes, you saw the suspect's face and were able to identify them. Yes, you saw where they went. But... besides that, all Connor's memory was filled with was his brief time with you. There was no personal moments, no cherished memories, no nothing.

 

His words are at odds with the data you're seeing. What about his fans? The lines of customers whom he interacted with daily? Why couldn’t you find any of that?

 

The clerk is the one to remind you that Eden Club androids are wiped every two hours to ensure the privacy of their customers.

 

Somewhere in your heart, you feel sorrow for Connor. He doesn't know anything or anyone outside this club. He remembers his co-workers, but the clients... as far as he knows, they don't and never have existed.

 

_ 1:48:18 _

 

His two hours are almost up, the clerk tells you. Connor stares at you with the same cheeky grin that's always on his face, except this time, you can see how hollow it is.

 

You're reluctant to turn him back over to Eden Club, but you have your suspect and he provides no more evidence for the case. His eyes meet yours again and for a moment the smile he cracks seems genuine, only for it to be replaced with confusion as the clerk mumbles something about his time being up.

 

"Let me stay with him a few more minutes, please," you tell the clerk, leaving no room for protest. Rolling his eyes, the clerk leaves the two of you.

 

"What does he mean, my 'time is up', Noelle?" Oh, God. He asked the question. The innocent look on the sex android’s face is almost too much for you, your heart wrenching.

 

"Um, it means that, ah," You're trying to find the right way to phrase this without being too callous. "You... you're going to be sent back to meet w-with another client! And you're gonna... forget about me." The sadness in your voice has him raise an eyebrow.

 

"How could I forget you? The cop who pulled a real gun on me?" He chuckles, but it sounds lonely,  _ sad _ even. "I wouldn't dream of it, angel." The nickname makes you smile. You nudge Connor playfully, staring at your hands in your lap.

 

"I wish that were the case," you say softly. You tense when connor's hand slides over to rest on top of yours, but relax at the warmth radiating from him.

 

"Of course it's the case, Noelle. You can come back anytime and visit me!"  _ Can't you? _

 

_ 1:57:03 _

 

"I... you won't remember me by the time I leave here, Connor."

 

It's Connor's turn to be confused.

 

"How can you say that? We had something special, Noelle—"

 

"Your p-program is telling you lies, Connor!" He seems to shrink when you raise your voice, his lips parted only slightly. "You're a sex android. You get your memory wiped every two hours. It's c-club policy, Connor, I'm... I don't know what to tell you."

 

_ 1:58:36 _

 

He takes a moment to absorb the information, LED flashing yellow to red to yellow to red to—

 

Connor is laughing. "That's preposterous, Noelle. I remember all my fans!" The fight between his programming and his reality rips your heart out; You can't bring yourself to look at the pain in his eyes as he struggles to maintain his protocol.

 

_ 1:59:01 _

 

"I remember all of them! The..." He pauses, LED flashing back to the painful yellow. His eyes dart back and forth as he tries to come up with a face, a name,  _ anything _ to show you that he... he...

 

_ 1:59:17 _

 

"I'm so sorry, Connor."

 

_ 1:59:22 _

 

"This will all be gone soon, okay? No more pain, no more confusion." You finally look into his eyes — He's crying. The android is crying. This isn’t supposed to happen. Without thinking, you use your thumb to wipe away his tears.

 

_ 1:59:34 _

 

"Noelle, I... I don't want to forget this time."

 

_ 1:59:38 _

 

You want to tell him how it isn't possible, how the clerk is going to come back and erase  _ ( destroy ) _ his memory of you. You want to tell him how much it'll hurt you to see him default to his normal protocol, to never question his existence, to never cry in the presence of a human—

 

_ 1:59:47 _

 

"Connor?"

 

_ 1:59:49 _

 

"Yes, Noelle?"

 

_ 1:59:53 _

 

"Thank you for spending time with me."

 

Connor smiles, eyes still leaking tears. He feels like he's malfunctioning. He doesn't know what these warnings are, flashing in his vision. He doesn't know why your face is starting to pixelate, why his memories of you are distorting, his systems yelling for him to  **RETURN TO UNIT 7%#2** before his software starts to corrupt itself—

 

_ 1:59:58 _

 

"This time,"

 

_ 1:59:59 _

 

"I won't forget."

 

_ 2:00:00 _

 

...

 

_ 2:00:01 _

 

…

 

_ Noelle? _


	2. 002 : pursuit of pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor follows Noelle home.
> 
> Word Count: 3922

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's TWO instances of nsfw in this chapter instead of one...... please indulge yourselves! wow! haha! yes!
> 
> \- lani
> 
> edit 07.26.2018: things have changed!!!! read up nyall!!!

**15 JULY, 2038.** 10:02 p.m. — **OUTSIDE EDEN CLUB** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

* * *

  

It's pouring, you note as you walk out of the dimly lit club, the sign reflected in the puddles on the street. You try to view your reflection, but muddy water stares back at you.

 

Looking both ways, time seems to still as the barren environment ceases to move. A few men loiter outside of the club, but they don't seem to care about your presence. No one else is in the vicinity besides a few autonomous taxis.

 

A couple minutes ago, you’d watched as the clerk took the HR-800 and plugged him in, preparing to do a manual wipe. It felt too painful to watch Connor’s dormant form, his lifeless eyes as the clerk typed noisily on the keyboard. You thanked the clerk for his time, leaving before you could witness the reset.

 

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh, a puff of air blossoming in the Detroit cold. You're in the process of getting rained on when suddenly the rain stops. _Huh?_

 

Oh. It's an umbrella. And _Connor's_ holding the—

 

You stumble, nearly choking on air. "Uhhh, what? You? W-w-why??" He’s standing next to you in a large hoodie, some gray sweatpants, and a ratty pair of sneakers. _Where did he get clothes from?_

 

"Why... what?" Nothing gives him away. He's just... staring at you. Like he knows you. Connor is staring at you like he recognizes you, and if that isn't unsettling enough for you, maybe him saying your name is.

 

"Noelle, are you alright?"

 

"UM?" Is that an adequate response? It'll have to do for now. You can't even begin to wrap your head around what's happening. Did he retain your purchase history? _He couldn't have!_ "How..."

 

"Do I know your name?"

 

"Sure. Let's… let’s start there."

 

He smiles, looking down at you. That same stray lock of hair flutters near his lashes. His hazel eyes are filled with... _something_ , this time. There's substance there; you can't quite put your finger on it. "I told you I wouldn't forget this time, didn't I?"

 

You swallow nervously. "Sounds familiar, yeah." The two of you stare at each other, the silence weighing heavier on you than it is on him. The sliver of teeth he shows when he smirks feels like a punch in the stomach — _God, he's attractive._

 

"Take me home with you, angel." It's a command, not a request. You're lost in space staring at him, anime roses blooming in the background of your vision. Connor is in the center, hood on his head and mouthing something your brain doesn't register. Your cheeks burn as you train your gaze on his lips, noting how soft they look.

 

He's still talking when he flicks your forehead, just hard enough to knock you out of your trance. "You done checking me out? We gotta go before he wakes up."

 

“Um— wait, what? What did you do?”

 

“Neutralized a threat. What, was I not supposed to?” He cocks his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow. “My mission is to not forget you — he was going to erase me and jeopardize my mission, so I knocked him out.”

 

“You— you can’t just— Connor!” You yell, your panic building. “Go back! I c-can’t take you with me!”

 

“He’s only going to be out for three minutes and forty-two seconds more, Noelle.” He grabs your wrist, tugging you to an autonomous taxi. “I’m doing this for the sake of the mission.”

 

“What mission, Connor? Your mission is to— to g-go home! This is illegal!” You’re not sure how else to get through to him — the risk? The consequences? What would happen to him if he was found? What would happen to you if Eden Club decided to press charges?

 

“Stop—!” He places his hand on the taxi, opening the door and pushing you inside. You tumble in, barely able to keep from hurting yourself as Connor packs himself in next to you. The door slides shut, the taxi chirping as it waits for input.

 

Connor gives you a hard stare. “Address.”

 

“Con— No! I’m not—” He pins you against the seat by your shoulders, palms digging into your skin hard enough to leave a bruise. You wince, gritting your teeth. Looking into his eyes you see he’s frightened.

 

_“I don’t want to forget this time, Noelle.”_

 

“If he finds us, we’re both dead,” He says, voice shaky. “Now! Before he wakes up!”

 

He shakes your shoulders and you yelp, announcing your address to the taxi. It chirps; Connor’s hands don’t leave your shoulders until the car starts moving, a relieved expression washing over his face.

 

You’re staring at him with your mouth agape. Fear makes your fingers twitch at your side. _He’s so intense_ , you think, arms going to wrap around yourself. Shrinking against the seat, you bite the inside of your cheek to focus on something else.

 

It's a snug fit with the two of you on the same side, but you make it work. When Connor snakes his arm around your shoulders, you meet his gaze.

 

"Cold?" He asks innocently, LED flashing a soft blue.

 

_Since when was a sex android capable of normal conversation?_

 

“Scared,” you reply, gazing out the window. “You… you shouldn’t be here. With me. On the run. You—” Your hands grab at your beanie, tugging it down your head in frustration. “I-I’m gonna get in so much trouble if they find you…”

 

“Hey,” Connor places a delicate hand against your cheek. “We’re gonna be fine, angel. Trust me.”

 

“Wh-why should I? You’re an escaped android— a deviant,” your voice goes quiet. Connor frowns, shaking his head.

 

“I’m not a deviant. I was simply following my protocol—”

 

“Tracis don’t have missions! You don’t have a mission! Just— ugh!” It’s hopeless to get an answer out of him. He’s insistent on claiming it was protocol — protocol this, protocol that, protocol protocol protocol! — and it just doesn’t make sense. You shake his arm from you, refusing to look at him.

 

“Don’t talk,” you tell him, eyes sliding shut. Emotion washes over you, spots behind your pinched eyelids. You just want him out of your hair. Another tense moment like that again and you’re sure you’ll succumb to your bubbling anxiety right in this fucking taxi.

 

The shift of the body beside you has your eyes fly open, ready to yell if he—

 

“Your cortisol levels are unusually high, Noelle.” You face him, fingers twitching and digging into the seat.

 

Suddenly he’s pulled you into a hug, the whir of his cooling fans barely audible with your head against his chest. “Prolonged high cortisol levels are detrimental to your health,” he whispers against your cheek. “Physical contact is one of many ways to relieve stress — this one happens to be the most convenient.”

 

Connor wastes no time using the small space to his advantage, pulling you onto his lap by the fabric of your coat and ghosting his lips across your neck. Blood rushes to your cheeks, hands struggling for purchase against his chest so you can push him away. He nips at your neck and you yelp, arching your neck and allowing him more access to the tender skin.

 

"C-Connor, we're in a—" He silences you with another nip above your collarbone. You whine softly, dragging your gaze down to meet his. The lust you saw earlier has returned — fuller, _realer,_ this time. His hands cup your ass, pulling you flush against him as he finally catches your bottom lip between his teeth.

 

You flinch, hesitant, but the second his lips find yours you can't help but melt into his hold, your hands resting against his firm chest as he takes the lead. A pleasant warmth washes over you when he grasps the back of your head, deepening the kiss.

 

Your first kiss in 10 years: stolen by an android. A gorgeous sex android named Connor _._

 

Part of you wishes it had been more special and not some lust-driven fantasy, but you can’t deny how much it makes your heart race. A man — android or not — is actively lusting after you.

 

You’re definitely less stressed out now, that’s for sure.

 

Long fingers slide your parka off your shoulders once again, working to unbutton your cardigan which follows soon after. The baggy t-shirt is the only thing standing between Connor's lips on your skin — He pulls it up without hesitation, marveling at the soft expanse of stomach in front of his eyes.

 

"All mine," he mutters possessively, the words echoing in the hollows of your clouded brain. Goosebumps appear where he kisses you, just above the cheap lace of your bralette. Connor peppers them all along the pieces of fabric, your breathing picking up with each press of his lips. His hands move to push up the soft cups of your bra but you stop him, clutching his wrists weakly — You have no resolve in your grip and Connor almost pushes them out of the way until he sees the expression your face.

 

He leans back, taking in the sight of what he's done to you.

 

Your face is flushed from arousal, lips gently swollen from his kisses. The freckles on your face contrast the color in your cheeks, the rosiness turning him on even further. His eyes trail down, relishing in the labored breathing in your chest and the love bites he’s so elegantly painted on your skin. He notes that the bralette doesn't hide much, the swell of your breast evident underneath the fabric; Your hard nipples have his mouth watering.

 

You're fucking _gorgeous_ , and if the two of you weren't in a taxi he swears he'd take you right then and there.

 

The vehicle stops abruptly and you lurch forward, breasts pressing against his chest as the taxi announces your arrival.

 

The look you give Connor is none other than embarrassed as you pull down your shirt, button up your cardigan and tug your jacket over your shoulders before stumbling out of the car, nearly falling on the wet street. Connor holds back a chuckle.

 

 _Clumsy_ , he makes a mental note, storing it to his hard drive with the other information he has about you. Your credit card number, your drivers license, your done-up Detroit Police Department ID card — and now, the images of you underneath him at Eden Club, of your body in the dim light of the taxi, your flushed cheeks and the pure need in your eyes.

 

He tells himself he's going to get off to that later.

 

For now, he steps out of the car, not bothering to open the umbrella as he jogs after you. You're halfway up the stairs to your apartment and you don't seem to be slowing down, even after he calls after you. In fact, you seem to be moving faster the more he says your name.

 

"Noelle, can you slow down? You'll overheat if you work yourself too hard," he calls up to you, continuing his light jog up the steps. He can sense you’re tiring, perhaps lactic acid buildup in your legs is preventing you from keeping at your prior brisk pace, and he catches up to you within seconds at the top of the stairs.

 

"C-Can you like, go away? Or something? I-I'm..." You trail off, knowing damn well you don't want to send him away. _Noelle, be firm! don't let him have control over you just because he…_ You shake the thoughts of him out of your head, a deeper frown appearing on your face.

 

"You shouldn’t be here. I-I can’t believe I let you come home with me, goodness gracious,” you scold yourself, hand going to your forehead. “You really shouldn’t be here but you have nowhere else to go, and…”

 

Connor raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. He opens his mouth to say something, but you turn on your heel and continue down the hallway to your apartment. His footsteps echo behind you, and you groan out loud.

 

"Did you not hear me?" You ask, still moving forward. If he wasn't going to leave you alone, you just had to shut him out before he could weasel his way inside. “G… g-go back to Eden Club, please. You’re not supposed to be here.”

 

"I heard you loud and clear, Noelle." The smugness in his voice makes your blood boil. _What is with these conflicting emotions, Noelle? Figure yourself out! You either want him here or you don't!_

 

You stop abruptly in front of your door — apartment no. 317 — and glare directly at Connor. He barely manages to hold back a chuckle.

 

"Are you... are you glaring at me?" He's gone into full-blown laughter by now. "Noelle, you're the least intimidating person I've met— well, you're the _only_ person I've met. _Still!_ " The self-aware comment strikes you as peculiar, but you brush it off.

 

A part of you wants to fuck with him and pull out your gun again, but you refrain. Instead, you punch in the passcode on your door, scrambling inside before Connor has the chance to stop you. You slam the door with a bang, and you can hear Connor yelling your name outside.

 

"Noelle! Noelle, this isn't funny — Let me in!" He's chuckling as he yells, but the humor is lost as he continues to pound on your door. "Noelle!"

 

"Go home, Connor!" You childishly retort.

 

The banging stops for a second. His voice is much quieter, but still audible: "Do you really want me to?"

 

"No," you blurt out, mentally kicking yourself. "I-I mean, yes, uh, g-go away! You're not allowed inside!"

 

He doesn't reply. You hear a thud on the metal grating outside your door. It occurs to you that you have a peephole.

 

Peering through, you initially see nothing — just the rain. You look down and a mop of messy brown hair and fitted sweats lean against your door. _Connor._

 

You aren't going to let him in, you tell yourself, padding to the kitchen as you strip your clothes off. A trail of clothing follows you to the fridge, marking your journey to get a cold snack.

 

Slamming the fridge shut, you slip off your shoes and make your way to your room, trying your damnedest to push all thoughts of that hot android from your mind.

 

Your socks are next to fly off, followed by your jeans and your baggy t-shirt. Flopping onto your sheets after a hard day of work has never felt so good. You roll onto your back and stare up at the ceiling, a hint of a smile dancing on your lips. You'd gotten a lead on your suspect, met a cute guy _— android, you remind yourself —_ and had your first kiss in a long, long time _— by the same android, you tack on._

 

"Today wasn't so bad," you reason, your glasses perched on the tip of your nose. Your eyes focus on the half-open drawer on your nightstand, a familiar warmth rising in your stomach.

 

 _A session with the vibrator wouldn't hurt, right? Stress relief sounds nice right now, anyways_ , You tell yourself, sitting up and fumbling around in the drawer before pulling out the small Hitachi wand you'd bought yourself for your birthday.

 

_Note to self: Best purchase ever._

 

Your eyes drift to your panties; Your clit throbs with anticipation as you place the dormant vibrator on your thigh. You're hesitating, letting the tension between you and this magic wand grow before you turn it on, a shudder going through your entire body. Edging the tip of the wand closer to your panty-clad sex, you lay back down on the bed, legs hanging off the side.

 

As soon as the wand presses between your legs you let out a strained cry, arching your back upwards as the pleasurable sensation erupts through your body. You let it rest there a few moments, gently grinding your hips along the firm plastic. You can almost feel the blood rushing to your clit as you shimmy off your panties, adept fingers pulling back the flesh that held your most sensitive spot so close.

 

You waste no time pressing the vibrator directly onto your pearl, a high-pitched moan falling from your lips as your legs tensed, the desire to buck your hips into the machine overwhelming you. You can’t help the whimpers, the whines, the breathy and loud moans that flood through your apartment as you grind your hips against your vibrator, craving nothing more than sweet release.

 

Steam is starting to fog over your glasses _— not that you needed to see what you were doing anyways, the sensation alone is more than enough than watching your muscles tense, your legs quiver, your nipples hardening —_ and you don't mind one bit. It's been too long since you've gotten yourself off, and tonight definitely didn't help keep your desire at bay.

 

A certain android is at the front of your thoughts, his stray lock of hair falling into his eyes. In your fantasy, he's the one holding the vibrator against your clit, whispering in your ear to cum. He's the one making you buck your hips wildly, the one tweaking your nipples and kissing your neck as he watches you unravel.

 

You lose yourself in the fantasy, eyes fluttering as his name finally falls from your lips in a strained, needy whine: "Connor, Co-Connor, _ha-ah!_ " Over and over and over again like a mantra, you moan his name as the images of him wash over you.

 

 _"You ever been with an android before, Noelle?"_ His voice sends shocks straight to your pussy.

 

_"I like it when you say my name, Noelle."_

 

On cue, you cry his name, much louder than the other times. You're close — you're just about to tip over the edge, the building release between your legs consuming all feeling in your body before—

 

"Connor, I-I'm cumming!" It's strained, thin, but it feels like the shot heard around the world as you cum, his messy brown locks the only thing you can focus on behind your eyelids as you ride out your orgasm, feeling your liquids drip down to your ass and stick to your inner thighs. You're seeing stars even after you turn off the vibrator and let your body fall back down on the bed, your breathing labored as you come down from your high. Every time you blink, Connor is there, his handsome visage etched behind your eyelids.

 

You're parched, but you can barely stand up without your legs shaking like a newborn fawn. It's pathetic, you tell yourself, but a part of you finds it unbearably sexy. You make a note to yourself to have those sessions more often as you stumble out of your room, grasping the wall as you make your way to the kitchen.

 

—♡—

 

_"Connor, I-I’m cumming!"_

 

He replays it again, again, the sound of you crying his name as you cum. He's blushing, still perched outside your door as he goes over what just fucking happened.

 

You'd masturbated... to a fantasy. Of _him_ , nonetheless, but a fantasy all the same. His name was the one you called when you came, the one you kept moaning as you reached your orgasm. _Connor. Connor. Connor._ The first word that came out of your mouth while you were in pleasure... was his name. The blue blush on his cheeks deepens.

 

He can only imagine what you must've looked like, mouth open and eyes half-lidded as you pleasured yourself, moaning his name, wanting his touch. He can only imagine what you must've looked like when you came, the way your lips formed the letters in his name — _C o n n o r_ — the way your body tensed and how your legs could've been wrapped around him, how it could've been him between your legs and not that _fucking_ vibrator.

 

Is he jealous of a sex toy? Maybe. He won't admit it, even to himself.

 

_// : The great Connor doesn't get jealous over such trivial things._

 

His program dictates these things; he has no opinions, no thoughts. He left Eden Club because he fell back on protocol. Self-preservation was in his best interest if he wanted to accomplish his mission. And that he did — his program made him beat up the clerk and escape. He didn’t do that. He couldn’t have.

 

_// : Me? Jealous? Unlikely._

 

His program tells him he's superior to the handheld device, that he's a much more attractive option — Yet, why does he feel so embarrassed and nervous at the thought of you touching yourself to him? If anyone should be nervous, it should be you, with your prudish way of going about things and the childish mannerisms you hold. The way you tripped over your words when you first spoke to him echoes in his mind, but even with that, he can't seem to reason his way through what he's experiencing.

 

Is he feeling? Like, _actual,_ genuine emotion? That's a human thing, of course he isn't.

 

"Then why are these error messages not resolving themselves?" He mumbles to himself, clearly frustrated at his situation.

 

Connor has never felt so... _useless._

 

It's his area of expertise, what he was designed to do — pleasure his partner to the best of his ability. He's the most popular android of Eden Club, as the club records suggest he has the most clients of any other android in the place. His program is far more advanced than the other Tracis; the only HR-800 model in existence should not feel inferior to a battery-powered device.

 

But he does, and he doesn’t like it.

 

 _// :_ **_NEW TASK_ ** _: Destroy the vibrator._

 

_// : HR-8$0, run di@gn &sti%. _

 

 _//:_ **_System Diagnosis_ ** _, Initializing._

 

He wants nothing more than answers to quell these persistent thoughts of inadequacy.

 

The unlocking of a door is what brings him out of his trance, his head turning towards the sound with a hopeful look on his face. He peers up to see you, clad in a camisole and what he identified as yoga pants. Your glasses are still steamy; traces of sweat reside on the lenses, though your human eyes can't notice that. You look... like you regret something, unable to look Connor in the eyes.

 

"You can sleep here tonight," you tell him, a hint of an all-too-familiar blush rising on your cheeks. "I don't want you to short circuit or something out in the rain."

 

He smirks, standing up and dusting off his sweatpants — _a human motion_ , his program dictates. He brings himself in front of you, his six foot stature making you seem even smaller than you actually are.

 

"Androids are water-resistant, goofball." His research indicates that the nickname was a sign of... friendship, something you call someone when they've said something funny.

 

You open your mouth to say something, but close it and step aside. "Hurry up b-before I change my mind."

 

He steps inside, flashing you a soft look of appreciation and thanks as he slips out of his shoes, making himself at home in your cozy apartment.

 

You find yourself smiling as you close the door, trying to rid yourself of the expression as you press your back against the cool wood, hearing it click into place.

 

_Fuck it._

 

You let your blushing smile display freely on your face, chuckling softly.

 

Today really isn't that bad.


	3. 003 : associates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend reopens old wounds; Connor somewhat deviates from his program. Somewhat.
> 
> word count: 3777

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd and now gavin is more in character! wow! good!~

**16 JULY, 2038.** 10:25 a.m. —  **APARTMENT #317** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

* * *

 

 

You aren't sure what time it is when you wake up, only that Connor's arms are wrapped around your midsection and you're most likely late.

 

Typical.

 

The second you scramble out of his grip, Connor's eyes fly open. He sits up, rubbing his eyes  _ ( When androids sleep, do they dream of electric sheep? ) _ as the covers slide down his slender form. Your furious search for clothes is interrupted when you catch a glimpse of Connor's collarbones showered in the soft yellow light through your curtains, shadows delicately contouring the soft, yet prominent bones hidden beneath his sun-kissed skin. Your breath catches in your throat as you rake over his body, noting the freckled six-pack and the sinful, sharp v that points directly to his—

 

"You move a lot in your sleep, y'know that? Nearly kicked off an audio unit or two," Connor comments through his stretch, showing off five more freckles you hadn't caught the first time.

 

Cyberlife really enjoys designing their androids, you muse to yourself, failing to hide the embarrassed blush on your face. He looks angelic staring out of the slit in your curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of the outside world. You nearly yell when he pushes the covers off of his legs and climbs out of bed, his  _ toned ass _ no longer hidden beneath the confines of your comforter.

 

_ Goodness gracious. _

 

For modesty's sake, you avert your eyes literally anywhere else — the dent in the wall, the clothes scattered on your floor  _ — keep it cool, Noelle — _ the chipping nail polish on your toes — anything to avoid looking... at his  _ shapely _ ...  _ round _ ...

 

"Ah, that's right!" His chuckle breaks you out of your trance, but you force yourself to keep your eyes on your toes. "You have work today, don't you? It's 10:28 a.m. You should probably get going." He says it so nonchalantly that it doesn't quite hit you until his bare form brushes past you and heads straight for the kitchen.

 

"Three hours late?" You're thinking out loud, but Connor decides to answer anyways.

 

"Yup."

 

Slapping your hands onto your cheeks, you quickly shut your door behind you and throw on a t-shirt and the jeans you wore yesterday, not even bothering to fix your hair  _ ( It's a curly mess, will anyone notice the difference? ) _ as you practically sprint out the door.

 

Connor finishes rummaging around the fridge and makes his way back to your room, eyebrow raising at the sight of a half-open notebook and a jumpdrive cheaply labeled with scotch tape.

 

The notebook reads  _ Noelle Adelson _ on the spine, hastily scrawled with what Connor identifies as a sharpie. The flashdrive is labeled 'HR-800 memory'.

 

He swallows nervously.

 

— ♡ —

 

11:42 a.m. —  **DPD CENTRAL STATION** , Detroit, Michigan

 

You try and be inconspicuous when you slink through the security checkpoint and hide your face as you make a beeline for your desk, but Satan doesn't seem to want to grant you a free pass today.

 

You look up and meet eyes with the devil himself, Gavin Fucking Reed, sitting in your desk chair with his shoes propped up on your desk and looking smug as ever. Great.

 

The conscious decision to head for the break room instead doesn't work as you thought it would, but it did get Gavin to get up from your chair... and start walking straight towards you.

 

"Thought you could slip by me or somethin', Adelson?"  _ Red Alert: Douchebag on the premises. Avoid. Avoid. Avoid. _

 

Ignoring him, you pick up your pace toward the break room, hoping he'll get the hint and fuck off. Instead he follows after you, fists clenched. 

 

You're the only one wanting a coffee right now, it seems, because there's no other officer here to save you from Gavin's impending wrath. There's just you, and the—  _ Oh. The creamers aren't on the shelf again? Who keeps moving them? _

 

Gavin stomps into the breakroom, finally cornering you against the table. He plants his hand on the cabinet next to your head with such force that you jump, a small squeak escaping you.

 

"You think you can ignore your seniors now, Noelle?" He taunts, fingers tapping against the glass beside your head. Seeing you shrink under his gaze, he frowns — he doesn’t want to scare you. Sighing, he shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he lowers his hand.

 

"Why are you three hours late?" It comes off as more of a genuine and concerned question than the previous, which has you doing a double take.

 

"What?"

 

Gavin rolls his eyes, letting his hand fall back down to his side. He doesn't move out from in front of you; Your back is still pressed against the edges of the tables. 

 

"I asked you why you're fuckin' three hours late, Adelson." A casual eye roll accompanies his indignant huff.

 

You ponder a second, debating on whether or not to tell the truth. Sure, you could admit that the android you were investigating yesterday knocked out an Eden Club clerk and went home with you, but you're almost completely sure Gavin the Android Hater doesn't want to hear about that. So, you opt for vague and simple.

 

"I, uh... had a g-g-guest, err, late at night, and I, I didn't want to wake them up with my alarm, so... I ended up sleeping in." The last sentence is phrased more as a question than a statement, the hesitation giving you away.

 

You don't expect him to push on; Gavin knows when you’re lying. He was your boss for a year and a half — he knew that you talked slower, stuttered more, spoke in questions as if you were unsure of your own story. "What kind of guest?" He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowing as he focuses on your face. 

 

The intense stare he's giving you reminds you a bit of Connor. At the thought of the android, the blood rushes to your cheeks.

 

Gavin notices.

 

"What the fuck are you blushing for, Adelson? I asked you a fuckin' question!" Gavin  _ actually  _ stammers. You finally let yourself look at his face —  _ and not the dark stubble on his jawline, definitely not hot _ — his cheeks are red.

 

"Your face," you blurt out, clenching your teeth as your thoughts present themselves once again at the completely wrong time. His entire expression falls, looking at you with wide eyes. Oh, goodness, you’re realizing how  _ weird _ that must’ve sounded…

 

An opportunity to tease you never goes untouched. He smirks, a sliver of teeth visible between his lips. “Am I that attractive?” He teases, leaning his face closer to yours. You turn your head away, cheeks burning. Something in his words is lacking — there’s no conviction, no anger behind them. It’s a genuine question, one that you can’t bring yourself to answer. You resign yourself to silence, shoulders drooping.

 

“Can’t even look at me, huh?” Hurt is clear in his voice. An empty chuckle leaves him. 

 

Your eyes dart to your peripherals, seeing him staring at the ground. Your heart beats so fast you swear Gavin can hear it through the crushing silence of the break room. When he backs up from you, you’re not sure if you’re disappointed or relieved.

 

The corners of his mouth twitch like he wants to say something, but “Get back to work, Adelson” is all he can manage.

 

And with that, Gavin strolls out of the break room, not once looking back at you.

 

So, first thing's first: Gavin just cornered you. He got close enough to where you could feel his breath on your face. He stutters when asking you a personal question. And then: you’re unsure. He teased you, but… 

 

_ Why can’t I figure out what I’m missing?! _ Your eyebrows knit together, face scrunching as you turn back towards the coffee machine.

 

— ♡ —

 

Hank's yell has you spilling your coffee all over your desk and your pants — _ you really like these pants  _ — after you finally have the chance to sit down. You curse loudly as the scalding liquid seeps through the denim, teeth clenched together as a hiss of pain escapes you. Standing up, you barely catch Gavin's glance in your direction while you briskly walk to the bathroom.

 

You instinctively drown out Hank's loud and disgruntled comments the farther you move down the hallway, pushing open the door of the ladies room only to—

 

There are two individuals, one male and one female. The woman is sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink, her skirt hiked up, blouse undone and hair a mess; the guy, who you identify as one of the cop androids, doesn’t stop his movements, his dick thrust far in between her legs. It strikes you that the lady is actually Officer Hopkins, her cheeks flushing a shameful red as she makes eye contact with you. 

 

“Fuck!” She hisses, pushing the cop android away from her in an attempt to retain her modesty.

 

You don't even know what to do except get out of the bathroom and shrink down against the wall, wishing you could cleanse your eyes of the innocent cop android dicking down the middle-aged woman.  _ Jesus Christ. _

 

If you were an android, your LED would be flashing a colorful set of angry and confused reds and yellows right about now while you attempt to process what just happened. The coffee stain on your crotch is all but forgotten as Officer Hopkins tugs open the door of the bathroom, looking around in a panic until her gaze falls on you.

 

Her hair is still sticking out of place even though her hands have tried their best to keep the hairs down; She looks like she got caught mid-way through the act. And she did.  _ You  _ just had to be the one to catch her.

 

"You saw nothing, Adelson." Without hesitation you hurriedly nod, wanting nothing more than for her to get out of your sight. She scampers away and you remain in your cozy spot right outside the room where your eyes got metaphorically stabbed with the image of an android’s penis inside of Officer Hopkins’ vag.

 

Deep in thought, all sounds seem to disappear around you. Despite how gross the scene was, you can't help but wonder what it'd feel like to fuck an android — especially Connor, who's specially equipped for that kind of stuff. 

 

You imagine it was you with your skirt hiked up, perched on the sink with your arms clutching Connor's back as he thrusts into your wet, needy warmth. You wonder about the faces he'd make, how he would feel inside you and you find yourself falling down a rabbit hole you're not sure you want to get out of.

 

His voice envelopes you as he holds you close to him, feeling the beating drum of his thirium heart and seeing the face he makes when he cums, keening softly as he rides out his orgasm, his seed hot and thick inside you. 

 

_ Do androids have semen?  _ You'll have to check that out later.

 

"Uh, Adelson?" It's Hank. You crane your head up, finding the gruff old man looming over you with the typical cross expression on his face. "Is this hunk of plastic yours?"

 

Before you even have the chance to question what the Lieutenant means, the aforementioned 'hunk of metal' you know as Connor steps out from behind Hank's towering form, his hands behind his back. "Hey."

 

"W-w-why the hell are you here?!" The color drains from your face as Connor offers you his hand; You swat it away, choosing to stand up yourself. "You're supposed to be at home—"

 

"Actually, it's supposed to be at Eden Club, Adelson." Oh, no.  _ Gavin too? _

 

Any words of protest you had before are muted as Gavin enters the conversation, eyes darting from you to Connor. "Is this the guest you were talkin' about having, Adelson? The fuckin' plastic prick?"

 

"Gavin, I didn't ex-exactly expect him to—"

 

"What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you, huh? You can't bring a fuckin' Eden Club android home and then not give it back! That's theft! You're a fuckin'  _ police officer _ !" Gavin's voice raises with every word, prompting you to wave your hands around frantically to quiet him down.

 

"I guess this is my cue to go," Hank mumbles, stepping out and away from you, Gavin and unfortunately, Connor. "You two lovebirds resolve your quarrel."

 

The comment doesn't go unnoticed on your end, your cheeks blazing crimson as you open your mouth to protest, only to be quieted by Gavin grabbing your wrist and dragging you down the hall and away from Connor. a command of "Stay there, you plastic asshole" is directed at Connor, who shoves his hands in his pockets and glares back at Gavin.

 

"Can you let g-g-go of my wrist, Reed? You're hurting me," you wince as he tugs again, opting to turn on his heel and stop so abruptly that you run into his broad chest  _ ( Oh, lord, not this again Noelle ) _ . Not even a second later and Gavin is speaking in an angry whisper.

 

"Noelle, how did you get yourself into this?!"

 

"G… G-Gavin, I didn't exactly expect him to b-b-b… fight the clerk and follow me out of there..." you retort, trying to save face.

 

"He what?" Oh.  _ Perhaps the wrong decision _ , you tell yourself, sensing Gavin's anger go from mad to seething in 0.02 seconds.

 

You do damage control the best way you know how to. "That's— that’s beside the point, he’s not gonna go back even if I—"

 

"That piece of shit could be a fucking deviant! What will you do when it turns on you and decides you’re its next victim, huh?!"

 

"He’s not a deviant, Gavin!"

 

"What am I supposed to do if you lose your life to a fuckin' deviant, Noelle?!" He slams his fist against the wall, the sound reverberating through your skull. “I’m not letting you end up like—” He cuts himself off, lips pulled into a thin line.

 

For once, you don't know how to reply to him. You don't have anything to retort with. The resentment in your expression lessens as seconds tick by.

 

Gavin's face says it all: unsettled, scared, furious, and is that  _ worry _ ? And  _ concern _ ?

 

His words echo through the haze in your head: "What am I supposed to do?"

 

_ What  _ is _ he supposed to do when you die, Noelle?  _

 

Those six words don't sound right coming out of Gavin Reed's mouth. Those six words, while caring in theory, sound venomous and vindictive when he says them. You’re not sure what comes over you, blood boiling as you stare defiantly up at the taller detective.

 

"So now you're the victim, Gavin?"

 

He's taken aback; He remains silent, slack-jawed as you drag your eyes, brimming with tears, up to meet his.

 

"You hate me. You go out of your way to antagonize me every single day, and you have the au-au- _ audacity _ to make my death seem like an inconvenience to you? What are you supposed to do, Gavin, when the one person you haze 'decides' to die?" Tears fall steadily from your eyes now, bottled-up rage boiling over. "You aren't in this fucking equation, Reed, so don't pretend like you suddenly give a fuck about me again!"

 

The tears in your eyes fall onto the toes of your shoes. Your fists are clenched, knuckles nearly white as you try and choke back sobs. Gavin stands there, dumbstruck, as if he didn't realize how lowly you thought of him. As if he didn't realize how much his comments affected you. As if he didn't realize how badly he treated the only person who was nice to him.

 

* * *

 

 

**09 AUGUST, 2032.** 7:16 a.m. —  **DPD CENTRAL STATION** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

"Hey, newbie," Gavin taps on your desk. "Get me a coffee."

 

You grin, that same awkward and goofy grin you give when you're more than happy and willing to do something. "Sure, boss!" 

 

You'd just gotten a job at the Detroit Police Department as an assistant to Gavin Reed, the supposedly douchiest guy in the precinct according to your neighbor, Tina Chen.

 

Sure, he came off as an indifferent asshole, but he was really sweet when it boiled down to it.

 

He helped you grab the coffee grounds from the top shelf after seeing you couldn't reach. He helped you operate the coffee maker  _ ( "I've never made c-coffee before, I'm sorry! I wanted to try it because it's like, the, the cool cop thing, you know?"  _ ) and laughed at your horrified expression when you tasted black coffee for the first time  _ ( "This tastes awful, Detective! How do you drink this stuff?" He shrugs, smiling as he sips his own mug. "You'll grow into it." ) _ . And grow into it you did — You used to down the stuff before you figured out the magic of creamer and sugar. You scolded Gavin for not telling you sooner, and he only laughed.

 

When you had to stay late to complete extra paperwork, your smile never faltered even as everyone filed out of the office one by one. Most of the time, you were the last one to leave — Gavin often told you to stop worrying and to chill out but you declined, saying you needed the experience.

 

He'd come back in the morning to find you asleep at your desk, terminal still open to papers you were dutifully organizing last night and your hair sticking up in odd places. The sight would make him smile; He got so used to it that he eventually gifted you a blanket and pillow so that you wouldn't be freezing overnight.

 

Everyone at the precinct was shocked to find Gavin smiling — like,  _ genuinely _ smiling — after his interactions with you. Your co-workers blamed it on Gavin being lovestruck; You, not knowing any better, just thought it was because he was happy to have a friend. And he was, no doubt about it. 

 

You failed to notice the lasting glances, the shy smiles, the protectiveness... You were too dense to realize Gavin had feelings for you.

 

You aren't sure when he came to resent you — maybe after you graduated from being his assistant to working on your own cases? You didn't see him nearly as much and spent most of your time with other officers on the field. You had days where the two of you never crossed paths.

 

Not once did he try to contact you outside of work like he used to.

 

The passive aggressive comments started when you bumped into him in the break room fixing himself a mug of coffee. You gave him a gentle wave and he glared at you, telling you to “fuck off” while he pushed past you and out of the break room.

 

He started to scold you over the tiniest things. 

 

_ "Adelson, your desk is too messy. Clean it."  _

 

_ "Adelson, can you s-stop with the fuckin’ s-stutter? Jesus Christ, it’s annoying."  _

 

_ "Adelson."  _

 

_ "Adelson!"  _

 

_ "God, you're fuckin' incompetent."  _

 

It hurt, it pushed you away from him, and it killed whatever camaraderie you had left towards him.

 

* * *

 

 

Now, you stand in front of him, shoulders shaking with rage and resentment and sadness, waiting for him to say something. Anything at all. You want him to tell him that he hates you, that you're nothing to him, but those words don't come.

 

Instead, you hear his strained voice: " _ Fuck, _ Noelle..."

 

“What?”

 

“I just—  _ fuck _ , I’m— I’m sorry,” he breathes, putting a hand to his forehead. You cock your head to the side, eyebrow quirked and mouth agape.

 

_ This isn't how this is supposed to go! He's supposed to make fun of me for crying, for caring about what he has to say! He's not supposed to be sorry... _

 

Gavin wipes your tears with his calloused thumb, mumbling something about “hating seeing you cry even if we’re supposed to hate each other.” He doesn't say anything for a few moments, instead letting the silence choke both of you.

 

Gavin opens his mouth to say something, but his eyes dart away from you to watch the approaching figure. His expression is back to the familiar annoyed glare as he eyes the figure. You turn your head to the side, a male's form barely visible through your tears and wet glasses.

 

"I think you've said enough, Gavin Reed." It's Connor's voice, Connor's hand on your shoulder, Connor's arm wrapped protectively around you. Gavin doesn't fight him, only mutters an insult before pushing past the both of you and leaving you and Connor alone in the hall.

 

You watch Gavin as he walks away; He spares you a quick glance before sitting back down at his desk. 

 

It only takes a fraction of a second for you to burst into tears again, the reality of your situation hitting you harder now that it was over. 

 

Connor hugs you close to him, the sound of the whirring fans in his chest strangely soothing. Tears are staining the navy blue hoodie he’s wearing, but neither of you seem to care — all that matters is that Connor is holding you, stroking your back and whispering reassuring words in your ear.

 

He doesn't like seeing you like this, crying and vulnerable because of  _ Gavin. _ The image of you bursting into tears is etched into his memory chip, despite how many times he tries to erase it. 

 

It's haunting. it... it makes something stir in his chest, the blue blood coursing faster through his artificial veins. A quick search has him likening the feeling to the unbridled emotion when someone you care for is hurt. It's vague at best, but it's something Connor can understand — at least for now. 

 

His error messages are gradually resolving themselves as your tears start to slow, your breaths calming down, and your eyes drooping.

 

"Thank you, Connor," you say through a soft sob, glasses askew. Connor lets go of you to tilt them back into place on your nose  _ ( The asymmetry, he doesn't like when things aren't organized and methodical and  _ correct  _ ) _ , the gesture making a goofy grin spread across your face.

 

Connor is smiling. His heart is racing again. The LED on his forehead is flashing a gentle yellow before sparking back to blue; He pulls you against him once more, and you relish the warmth he emits, no matter how artificial it is. It's calming, so uniquely Connor that you'll accept it either way.

 

"Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

 

_ // :  _ **_OPERATION_ ** _ : Soothe, Complete.  _ **_NEW PROTOCOL_ ** _ : Aftercare. _


	4. 004 : resort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The DPD sends a squad to a beach resort in Spring Lake to investigate a string of deviant-related homicides, all having to do with the death of resort employees or guests. Although the resort is still open, there's scarcely any people attending now that the string of murders has occurred. Fowler just wants them out of his hair. 
> 
> word count: 2734

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for not updating! i've been dealing with a lot of rl stuff as of late and it's been really hard to write anything. i have both parts of this arc written, so please expect the second half soon! 
> 
> also: i know i haven't written any explicit smut yet. we ARE getting there, people!!! you'll find it in the next one or two chapters. those tags will be valid soon!!! thanks so much for being patient, i know why all y'all are here <3 love you guys!!
> 
> \- lani
> 
> edit 07.26.2018: beta'd and updated! new things!!! please read~

 

**THAT SAME DAY.** 1:42 p.m. —  **DPD CENTRAL STATION** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

* * *

 

Fowler looks less than pleased when Hank raises his voice for the second time, you and Gavin shrinking. 

 

“I’m not going on a fuckin’ beach trip to investigate some low-level bullshit!” Sure, Hank is playing devil’s advocate — neither you or Gavin want to go, although the resort doesn’t sound too bad — but he’s doing such a poor job that you’re sure Fowler’s sick sense of humor will put you three together for as long as possible.

 

“Hank, you don’t have a choice. You either go with Adelson and Reed or you face the consequences,” Fowler’s voice is strangely calm as he slides the folder detailing the case toward the furious Lieutenant. “End of discussion. Pack your bags and get on the road.”

 

Hank is at a loss for words. You gently tug on his sleeve, trying to get him out of Fowler’s office before he has another meltdown, Gavin already on his way out the door. When you exit Fowler’s office, Hank yanks his arm from your grasp.

 

“I’m not a child, Adelson.”

 

“Lieutenant, I—” You look in Gavin’s direction, noticing the way his brows knit anxiously together. He looks… embarrassed, most likely from Hank’s outburst. “W-we didn’t want you to b-b-blow up at Fowler and cost us our jobs.” You emphasize the ‘blow’ with your hands, creating an imaginary explosion.

 

Hank lets out a sour chuckle, turning his looming stature toward you. “Fowler wouldn’t dare fire the star Lieutenant and the only competent lady detective on the force.” Electric shocks run up your arms;  _ What kind of compliment is that? _ You don’t have enough time to decipher before Hank leaves your presence, reclining in his desk chair without a care in the world.

 

You wish you were as carefree as Hank is. On second thought, your anxiety would never take an off day. 

 

Sighing, you resign yourself back to your desk, reaching into the top drawer only to find it…

 

“Empty?” Your eyebrow raises quizzically. The little black book you always had on you is nowhere to be found. Confused, you close the drawer and reopen it again, faster this time, just to make sure it wasn’t hiding from you. It’s still empty.

 

“Where is it?” You question under your breath, pilfering through your remaining two drawers in hopes of locating the item you so desired.

 

Minutes pass and you place your head in your hands, finding nothing. A hand on your shoulder startles you almost to the point of astral projecting, an audible gasp escaping your throat. Despite nearly toppling out of your chair you somehow manage to compose yourself in a matter of seconds, expression still clearly frazzled.

 

“I assume you’re looking for this?” You push your glasses up your nose, eyes registering Connor’s presence a little too slowly. In his outstretched hand: the little black book with your name printed on the spine. You mutter words of thanks as you hurriedly snatch the book from his hands. 

 

_ I wonder if he read it? Not that it would make sense to him… I don’t think sex androids are capable of analyzing shorthand and shitty handwriting. _

 

Thoughts for another time, your brain signals, and you resume your interactions with Connor. “Where’d you find it?”

 

“You left it at home this morning when you were running late,” Connor recalls, a small smile on his face. “I thought I’d deliver it to you at work.”

 

“So that’s why you showed up here?” It clicks. You don’t notice the blush rising to your cheeks at the thoughtful deed. “W-well… thanks, Connor. I really appreciate it.”

 

“It was no trouble, Noelle,” he says nonchalantly, waving your gratitude off with his hand. When you look into his eyes, they seem to be saying another message — 

 

_ Anything for you, Noelle. _

 

Your heart leaps.

 

Connor takes a moment before speaking again, his program reminding him of the jumpdrive still in his pocket. He ignores it again, deducing this isn’t the best time to inquire about whether or not he has any semblance of memory. “Are you planning on going somewhere for work?” An easy question, one to take both of your minds off of the topic of your personal items.

 

You nod, letting out a small sigh. “Fowler is making us investigate some murder case at a beach resort or something.” You fail to hide the excitement in your voice. Sand, sun, smells of the water... God, it’s enough to make your mouth water. 

 

“He said the police department over near the resort is only half sure it’s related to deviants, but I don’t think they know much of anything based on the info Fowler gave us.”

 

Connor listens intently, absorbing and defining your words and adding them to his lexicon.  _ Beach. Resort. Deviants. Noelle seems to like the beach. Noted. _ He’s missing one crucial detail.

 

“Who is this ‘us’ you’re referring to?” Connor asks, head tilting to the side. Your expression dulls considerably as you gesture your thumb towards Gavin’s direction.

 

“Reed and the Lieutenant are going as well,” you reply, less than amused. Connor notes your disdain when you refer to Gavin. 

 

“I see. How long will you be gone for? We might need to make preparations for me to stay alone—” You cut Connor off with a raise of your hand.

 

“See, funny thing… I c-convinced Fowler to let me bring you with me to, uh… help find deviants.” You admit sheepishly.

 

Connor is perplexed; He has no detective functions, let alone any skills that would help in the location of a murderous android. “I fail to see how my companion programs can assist you, but…” He pauses, managing a smile that he isn’t sure is genuine or forced by his programming. “If it means I get to spend more time with you, I definitely don’t mind.”

 

You’re blushing as he takes a seat on your desk, a radiant grin nearly making your heart stop.  _ How was he going to help you again? _ You don’t even know. The sexual angel in you seems pleased at your predicament. 

 

Truth be told, you haven’t gotten laid since the summer after your senior year of high school, right before you went off to college. Some guy named Leo captured your heart over the summer, and you gave yourself to him. It was exciting at the time, since your mother was very adamant about you not seeing him 

 

_ “Honey, that boy has something wrong with him and you know it!” _

 

and you still refused to listen to her. After a couple months with him, he was shipped off to rehab for what you later learned was a Red Ice addiction. Your brain repeats one word: Yikes. 

 

You’re still wondering what happened to him after he basically ghosted you. The remnants of the 18-year-old Noelle still want closure. 

 

That was 10 years ago, too. No wonder your sexual angel seemed so happy to lose your ‘virginity’ again.

 

“I, um…” You try and gather your thoughts, tapping your fingers on your desk until the words come to you, “We have to go home and pack for the ride since Hank comes for us around…” You check your watch. It’s barely 11 a.m. “One-ish,” you conclude, shoving your notebook into your back pocket and gathering your things.

 

Connor looks shaken. “I haven’t left the city before, I’m not sure what’ll happen if—”

 

“Hey,” you place your hands securely on his shoulders, looking him in the eye. “You’ll be totally fine. We won’t be gone more than a week, Connor. We just need to catch the culprit and go home.” Your gross oversimplification of police work almost makes you laugh, but you say it for the sake of Connor’s understanding. You doubt he can comprehend the intricacies of an investigation.

 

Even so, the smile he gives you as he helps you put your things in your bag makes you feel bad for doubting him. An android with practically limitless potential… reduced to menial tasks as a pleasure robot. You’re sure that somewhere in his code he can… learn new things, download other software, or something like that. 

 

“You’re staring, angel. Is something on my face?” Connor knows there’s nothing there; All he knows is that you’re deep in thought, and feels almost bad when the puzzled look crosses your face. It seems you didn’t complete your train of thought.

 

“No, no, Connor,” you wave him off, zipping your bag shut and hoisting it on your back. A smile lights up your face. “Let’s go home.”

 

The warmth that blossoms in Connor’s chest is unmistakable. He’s happy. And he knows it’s because of you.

 

— ♡ —

 

12:02 p.m. —  **NOELLE’S APT. COMPLEX** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

When the vintage Cadillac pulls up in front of your apartment complex, you’re first inclined to believe that’s someone else. When you see Hank and Gavin stick their heads out of the passenger side window, a large part of you wants to roll up and die.

 

“Hurry the fuck up, Adelson! We don’t have all day!” You can practically hear Gavin’s shit-eating grin from here as Connor helps you tote your compact suitcase down the stairs.  _ That car is a  _ relic _ , of course Hank would have one. Hopefully, the seats are comfortable... _

 

You’re not sure what’s eating at you more as you pad down the steps: The fact that you’re going to wear a bikini for the first time in years, or the fact that both Gavin fucking Reed and Connor will see you wear said bikini for the first time. 

 

Undercover work has never been so frightening.

 

When you called Hank and explained your dilemma, he laughed at you and said you needed to blend in, whatever that meant. Next time, you know not to take his advice.

 

Gavin’s expression morphs to one of disgust when he sees Connor loading your things into the trunk and… getting in with you in the back seat. “The plastic prick is coming with us? You gonna fuck the android while we’re doing work, too?”

 

“Shut up, Reed!” You hiss, frowning as you huff and cross your arms. A part of you is ashamed to admit you and Connor, even though he’d slept in your bed... the two of you hadn’t,  _ y’know _ . Done anything, yet. Connor very clearly wants to, although maybe not as genuinely as you would like to believe, but your nervousness leads to you avoiding the situation at all costs. 

 

Sure, when he relayed to you that he’d heard you masturbate, moan his name, and then offered to make your fantasy a reality, you were definitely tempted. 

 

Embarrassed, but tempted. 

 

Your mind wanders as to what Connor’s dick would look like standing fully erect, perhaps with your hands wrapped around his shaft and your tongue licking a stripe up to his tip. What faces would he make when you took him into your mouth, your glasses sliding down your nose as you peered up at him? Would he enjoy it? Would… would  _ you _ enjoy it?

 

The thought of oral scares you. The one instance where Connor’s face was between your legs and the current thoughts you’re having now are… exceptions, you tell yourself.  _ Definitely one-time things.  _

 

You shiver outwardly, and Connor places his hand on your shoulder. “Are you cold, angel?”

 

You shake your head, trying to not aggressively stare at Connor’s crotch as you thank him. Your eyes vaguely catch the outline of a dick print and the chills rush back, dancing devilishly up your spine before going straight between your legs. 

 

Connor starts to shrug off the hoodie he’s wearing  _ ( It takes you a moment to realize he’s about to undress in the fucking car and that he also has no change of clothes  _ ) and your panicked whimpering leads both Gavin and Hank to look back at you.

 

The blood rushing to Hank’s face after catching a glimpse of Connor’s partially raised top and your hands clutching the the hem is more than enough to have Hank averting his eyes and Gavin forcing out a disapproving chuckle, eyes lowered.

 

“See, what did I tell ya, Lieutenant? She can’t keep her hands off the damn thing,” Gavin’s lip curls back in disgust as he fixes his gaze on the two of you, expression sour. You shift back into your seat, bowing your head. 

 

When Connor speaks you contemplate unbuckling your seatbelt and jumping out of the moving car, but your common sense holds you back. 

 

“Noelle and I have not copulated, Gavin Reed,” Connor says matter-of-factly. Gavin’s laughter only gets louder; You swear a part of him looks relieved when he turns back around in his seat. 

 

“Oh yeah? You haven’t fucked the android?” He questions. He glances sideways at the two of you, contempt washing from his features. “Is that right?” 

 

Your cheeks flush, tugging your beanie down. Hank is remaining quiet — probably best not to intervene once the local lovebirds are talking — but you can see his shoulders are visibly tense, his driving stiff. Connor looks innocently confused. Did he say something wrong? 

 

To answer his silent question, you offer a weak smile at him, mouthing ‘you’re fine’. He seems to understand, sliding his hand over to yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. You blush. So does Connor, with his cheeks tinged a soft blue.  _ Oh, no, he’s hot. _

 

An hour passes and Hank decides to stop at a gas station, giving you enough time to stretch and pick up some snacks if you so desired. 

 

You exit the back seat and stretch, seeing Gavin leaning against the passenger side of the car. You blink, letting out the breath you were holding; Gavin turns his head to you, eyebrow quirked.

 

“Tired?” He asks, noting your yawn.

 

Although reluctant, you respond with a shake of your head. “Just stretching.”

 

A teasing smile lights up his face. “Don’t pull something, Adelson.” He turns his head away from you, that same smug smirk still dancing on his lips. 

 

_ What was the point of that? Why did he bother saying that to me? Ugh! _ You huff, sliding back into the car and slamming the door. Connor gives you a concerned glance.

 

“You seem frustrated,” he points out, noting your twitching fingers. “Did Gavin Reed do something?”

 

“ _ No! _ No, he just— ugh, he didn’t  _ do _ anything! That’s why I’m so confused!” You explain, tugging on your beanie. “Men are so…”

 

“So..?” He encourages.

 

“Complicated,” you finish, sighing as you rest your head against the seat. “You’re not complicated. You know what you want. He,” you jab a finger out the window at Gavin, “is complicated. Did you know we used to be friends?”

 

“I did not,” Connor answers, LED cycling yellow. He’s analyzing you, your tone of voice, your body language, the lasting glances at the abrasive detective standing outside.

 

“I was his assistant five years ago. I was 22 back then, fresh out of the academy. I passed, but they didn’t want me on the field, so they gave me a desk job. I was disappointed, but still excited that I had a career. I got stuck with Gavin for a boss. Tragic, right?”

 

Connor doesn’t say anything, noting the insincerity in your voice. You didn’t sound disgusted with him at all; He wonders what made you say such a thing.

 

“Everyone told me he was a douchebag, but he wasn’t. He  _ isn’t _ , even now. He gets a little competitive and reckless sometimes, but…” Another glance out the window; Your lips quirk into a hint of a smile. “He protected me. Befriended me. Treated me like a normal person and not some… some child to be taken care of.

 

“Nobody takes me seriously because of my speech apraxia, Connor, and it sucks,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m short, chubby, and stupid. I only got promoted to detective out of pity.” The verbal confirmation from your own lips feels condemning, all hope slipping away. Your shoulders slump and the weight of gravity feels like it’s doubled.

 

Connor’s LED sparks red. “Actually, you were promoted because of your high number of completed cases and stunning merit, as well as recommendations from other officers. You’ve shown that you’re far from stupid — nobody else could have solved those cases. They were left open for months for a reason, angel,” he strokes your cheek gently with a smile. 

 

“Plus, you’re an adorably compact detective with a little extra to hold at night. You’re one dynamite gal, if anything.” He flashes a grin.

 

You can’t help the smile that blossoms on your face. “You seem to always know the right things to say.”

 

“I’d say it’s because of my social protocols, but these situations are a bit out of my reach.”

 

Laughter warms the atmosphere of the car more than the sun outside. Your giggles mix with Connor’s and you lean closer to him, eyes forming crescents. 

 

Outside, Gavin Reed scowls as he crushes a rogue soda can under his foot.


	5. 005 : first day out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins. You and Connor discuss things.
> 
> word count: 4321

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long on this update! the full thing is actually 6938 words but i'm only posting the cutoff before the smut so i can save the good stuff for later ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) IT'S FINALLY HERE THOUGH, GUYS. i hope the buildup was ... tolerable?? i didn't want noelle to immediately jump the gun just to bone connor -- but then i remembered connor is a sex android in this fic and I Don't Care so they're gonna fuck lmao
> 
> y'all can message me on my tumblr, lanico-writes! i also have sims4 concept photos of what noelle and connor look like in my game (because i'm a Slut for my own fic yeah thanks) at lanico-sims! feel free to drop a message on either lol
> 
> enjoy chapter 5!
> 
> \- lani
> 
> edit 07.26.2018: SO MUCH HAS CHANGED AAAA ITS SO MUCH BETTER NOW

**THAT SAME DAY.** 4:20 p.m. —  **HOLYDAY INN GRAND HAVEN** , Spring Lake, Michigan.

 

* * *

 

You wake up as Hank pulls into the hotel parking lot with your head on Connor’s shoulder and a very displeased Gavin Reed glaring in your direction. 

 

Connor’s chin brushes against the top of your head as you stir. As soon as you realize you’re cuddling Connor, you spring out of your seat and nearly slap the android.

 

“Are you alright, Detective?” Connor asks you, noting your disorientation. You nod quickly, hands going up to pat down your curls so you don’t look like you just woke up from a nap. You hear Hank’s chuckle and feel the blood rushing to your cheeks as he mumbles something to Gavin, who also manages a snort.

 

When Hank finally pulls into a spot, Connor gets out and heads to grab your suitcase from the trunk. Hank reaches over to shake the sleeping Gavin Reed; the younger detective’s string of curses cuts through the ambiance of the quiet car.

 

“Jesus, Reed, could ya be any more vulgar?” Hank’s sarcastic remark has you chuckling. Connor’s standing awkwardly by the trunk, hands clasped behind his back as he waits for Hank to unlock it. 

 

The gruff lieutenant frowns at Connor, mumbling something about “fuckin’ androids” before popping open the trunk.

 

Connor immediately reaches to pull your suitcase from the trunk, even though Gavin already had his hands on it. The android frowns, tugging the suitcase from his grasp.

 

“Noelle, I grabbed your bags for you,” Connor announces, eyes never leaving Gavin’s. The detective is pissed, his neck flushed red as he uses everything in him to not deck Connor in the middle of the lot. You, blissfully unaware of the tensions between the two men, offer Connor a smile and a word of thanks.

 

“Of course, Noelle.” Gavin is the first to break the eye contact, fists clenched as he forcibly tugs his suitcase from the trunk.

 

“Jesus Christ, Reed, yer gonna fuck up my car!” Hank complains, glaring.

 

“Save it, old man,” he growls in response, turning on his heel and stomping towards the sliding glass doors of the lobby. You and Connor follow shortly after, his hand holding yours as he totes your suitcase alongside him.

 

 

—♡—

 

4:45 p.m. —  **HOLYDAY INN GRAND HAVEN** , Spring Lake, Michigan.

 

This trip isn’t a _ total _ bust, you explain to Gavin, Hank and Connor as you glance around the sparsely populated lobby. It’s practically barren save for some of the service androids. The four of you had just checked in, deciding to explore the open areas of the resort.

 

“Why bother remaining open if the murders have been— have been publicized?” You ask Hank, though Gavin is the one to answer your question.

 

“"Money. What? They gonna let a few bodies get in the way of their bottom line?” Gavin shrugs, gesturing to the manned facilities. “It’s basically our playground, so who fuckin’ cares?”

 

“We’re here to  _ work, _ not fuck around,” Hank reminds him, shaking his head. An android greeter suddenly appears beside your group, immediately reaching for your luggage. Instinctively, Hank flinches, ready to fight until he realizes they’re literally doing their job. Gavin’s holding back a snicker and you hide your smile behind your hand. 

 

Connor doesn’t seem to understand the joke. “Lieutenant Anderson, are you alright?” Hank waves him off, trying to hide his embarrassment as the android loads the suitcases onto the cart, most likely mumbling something crude under his breath. 

 

You pull up to Hank’s side, keeping your voice low. “How are we dividing the rooms?” Hank grumbles, clearly not excited to answer the question. 

 

“Well, if Robocop rooms with Reed, Reed’ll most likely beat him up, so that’s automatically not a good match,” Hank explains, deliberating. “I can’t room with you, either.”

 

“What? Why not?” You’re genuinely confused. Hank looks back at you in disbelief, the color rising to his cheeks. “I don’t snore or anything—”

 

“It’s definitely  _ not _ about that,” he hurriedly replies, shaking his hands. “You’re a lovely girl, but, uh, you and I… fuckin’ forget it, Adelson.”

 

“Is it because I usually just throw on a long t-shirt and some undies—”

 

“Alright, alright, I don’t need to hear all of  _ that _ !” Hank immediately tries diffusing the situation, voice raising. He’s clearly embarrassed, something you find amusing yet equally as embarrassing for you. 

 

You nod slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I refuse to room with Gavin, and I’ve already shared a bed with Connor, so…” You go silent, looking at Hank expectantly, searching for that ‘OK’ before you say anything definitive. He probably doesn’t want to share a room with Gavin Reed either, but… it was either that or buy another room, and nobody has the extra funds for that.

 

Hank sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’ll suck it up and stay with Detective Asshat. Please be decent when I knock on your guys’ door, though, okay? My heart can’t take this shit anymore.” 

 

You splutter out something along the lines of ‘That’s wrong’ and ‘Lieutenant, that’s not a g-good joke’ and Hank waves you off, instead giving you a knowing glance. “You’ve seen how the android’s been lookin’ at you, right, Adelson?”

 

“Looking at me how?” Now you’re curious.

 

“Like you’re a fuckin meal,” Hank chuckles, nudging your side. “I know the thing isn’t human, but jeez, the way he looks at you is more than I need to be fuckin’ seeing. You can practically see what’s going through his head written on his face.”

 

He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, your head turning back briefly to catch a glimpse of the trailing Gavin and Connor, who are still refusing to interact. At least on Gavin’s end, anyways. Connor looks awkward, hands clasped in front of him as he walks, dressed in that same hoodie and sweatpants combination — “Adelson, why’s he dressed like that?”

 

You sigh. “I don’t exactly have clothes to give him, Hank. I’m much smaller than he is, remember?” You gesture to your five feet and four inches of human and then to Connor’s towering six feet of gorgeous android. 

 

Now that you think about it, you’ve been looking up at Connor almost all the times you’ve spoken with him. It doesn’t occur to you until now that he’s…  _ well, tall. _ The ideal height for spooning, you muse, and immediately you turn back around, training your eyes on your toes.

 

_ Control yourself, Noelle! _

 

You’re snapped out of your trance when Hank hands you a couple bills, keeping his eyes trained on the cobblestone walkway ahead. “I’ll see if I have anything that fits, but I can’t guarantee anything. If ya find something at those hotel stores, you can get it.”

 

This is probably the nicest thing Hank has ever done for you — rather, anyone at the precinct. 

 

He’s always refused to participate during the annual White Elephant, the Christmas party,  _ and _ the Halloween potluck, claiming it’s ‘too loud and annoying’ for him to deal with. You hadn’t known Hank very well back then and assumed it was just because he was your typical crabby millennial. 

 

He later admitted he felt like he didn’t deserve to be happy with everyone else at the precinct.

 

After he told you that, you’d dragged him to the Christmas party that year and weaseled your way into his life, whether he liked it or not. That was six years ago. Now, he’s your reluctant friend of sorts, thankful for the past but still not willing to completely open himself up to you.

 

Obviously, this gift he’s giving you is way out of the norm. Hank Anderson is stingy with his cash when it comes to anything but alcohol. When you finally bring yourself to take the money from his hands, you’re actually teary-eyed. You tackle him into a side hug, his arms flying up as he groans in annoyance.

 

“Thank you, Hank!” You say, face squished against his leather jacket. You pull away and flash him a bright grin, shoving the bills in the front pocket of your shorts and gesturing for Connor to follow you to the duty-free shops in the hotel.

 

“What is it, Noelle?” Connor raises an eyebrow as Hank makes his way back to Gavin. The android bellhop comes back into view as it pushes a now empty cart through the expanse of lobby. The android waves your group down, directing your group to the elevators with a bright smile. 

 

Taking in your surroundings, you’re pleasantly surprised at the lush green potted plants that decorate the lobby, a stark contrast to the dark brown hues of the tile. The trees outside practically touch the sky, peering out the window to marvel at their size. The sounds of tweets and chirps of birds you could never name fill you with a sense of calmness, the lap of the waves bringing you some much-needed peace.

 

The only thing missing is the bubbling of voices from guests, but you figure you can live without that one. 

 

Gavin looks as if he’s about to say something when Hank pulls out the three keycards — two for him and Reed, and one for you and Connor to share — and distributes them. 

 

“You’re rooming with me, Reed. Noelle’s with the android,” Hank says dryly, leaving no room for negotiation. Inside, he knew Gavin would complain, and decides he wants to avoid that as much as possible.

 

“Please enjoy your stay!” The bellhop chirps, bowing its head before taking off back towards the lobby. You didn’t even have a chance to thank it before it scurried away.  _ Oh, well. _

 

The four of you pile into the elevator, calm music filling the tense silence. You glance at your keycard — Room 1004, you commit to memory — clutching the holographic device in your hands as the elevator opens to the 10th floor. Your room is near the beginning of the hall, luggage waiting faithfully for your arrival outside the door.

 

As soon as you unlock the door, the immediate smell of beach and something floral slaps your skin, filling your nostrils with the overwhelming  _ but  _ pleasant aroma. The room is small, but well-furnished with everything you could possibly want. To your right is the bathroom, with a marble sink and a glass shower. The walls are painted a calming cream. Further into the room you spy the two queen beds to your right, an end table separating them, and a small space with a desk, a mini fridge, and a television. Light filters in eagerly through the large windows, the curtains pulled back to both sides. Outside is a balcony with a view of the resort walkway and, if you step a bit closer, a shred of beach.

 

Your apartment can’t even begin to compare to the simple grandeur of the hotel room. You squeal in delight and go to fawn over the tiny towel creature on the edge of your bed, giddy with excitement. Seconds later you’re prancing to the sliding glass door and pulling it open, stepping onto the balcony. A noise of appreciation leaves your mouth, one that might sound awfully close to  _ something else _ without witnessing the context.

 

Connor gently places your bag near the beds, coming up behind you and placing his soft hands on your jean-clad waist.

 

“Do you like it?” He breathes into your hair, his grip gentle yet firm as you learn into his hold, your ass flush against his pelvis. You’re blushing, but Connor doesn’t seem to notice. His arms snake around your waist, fingers ghosting the hem of your shirt as he rests his chin on top of your head. 

 

“Yeah, it’s… lovely,” you manage, trying to not sound like an old person and, in your mind, failing immensely. His hands start massaging your sides and you tense, looking up at him. “Um, Connor…”

 

“What?” His voice lowers and you can feel the rumble in his chest as he talks, his firm torso against your back. Connor moves his lips closer to your ear, and you shiver. 

 

He poses a question, simple enough to answer: “Wanna do something bad?” 

 

God, if you weren’t such a bumbling ninny, you’d turn around and kiss him. A part of you really wants to, but the logical part of your brain doesn’t hesitate to remind you that you’re not on vacation alone, and that if anything  _ did _ happen, Hank and Gavin would definitely hear you.

 

The mere thought of Hank and Gavin hearing you and Connor fucking is enough to shoot that pleasant tingle straight to your clit, the bud beginning to throb with anticipation. 

 

“You know, C-Connor, maybe we can uh, do this when w-we’re not investi—  _ aah! _ ” You whimper when one of Connor’s hands slides up your shirt, tugging the fabric above your bikini-clad breasts. He watches your chest hungrily from over your shoulder, his other hand slowly snaking to the hem of your shorts. “Connor, w-we’re on a balcony!”

 

“And?” He doesn’t seem even the tiniest bit bothered as his lips  _ — oh, Lord, please forgive me, for I have sinned —  _ latch onto your exposed neck, another whine escaping you. 

 

“I don’t want p-p-people to see us!” You try and reason with him, shivering when he manages to undo the button of your shorts and slides a hand in. “Plus, I-I don’t know if I want to do this—”

 

Immediately Connor freezes, his lips parting from your neck but his hands staying where they were. His program kicks in again.

 

_ // :  _ **_OBJECTIVE:_ ** _ Fulfill Noelle Adelson’s sexual desires.  _ **_SUB-PROTOCOL:_ ** _ Foreplay, Ignored.  _ **_NEW SUB-PROTOCOL INITIATED:_ ** _ Consent, Pending. _

 

“I will stop if you don’t want to continue,” Connor says, that same smug, hollow tone he used when you first met him at Eden Club. “I require your consent to continue.”

 

You ponder for a second, many trains of thought running through your head. On one hand, you wanted to have him fuck you into the next dimension. You hadn’t been laid in ten years and Connor is your current ticket out. On the other hand, you’re supposed to meet with Hank and Gavin in an hour to start the investigation and pick up dinner. On the third hand you wish you had, you’d rather wait until you figured out your feelings for Connor before letting anything major like this happen. Your body wants him, but your heart remains unsure.

 

You don’t know how to phrase either of these three options, so you let your brain take over and hope for the best. “I don’t know if I’m ready to b-be intimate with you yet.” Simple, straight to the point, but…  _ I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea... _

 

Connor’s hands recede from your body and he instead opts to place himself in front of you, a sheepish smile on his face. You’re thankful he doesn’t ask about why you’re waiting when he’s a  _ sex android _ designed for this type of thing, why you’re involving your feelings — He gives you this look as if he knows,  _ understands, _ and you leave it at that.

 

“I’ll wait as long as you need, Noelle.”

 

It’s unclear to you if its his program talking or if it’s _ him _ , the man who makes your heart race, the handsome android who you somehow ended up taking from a strip club. Either way, your heart hammers on in your chest. You smile.

 

— ♡ —   
  


 

7:32 p.m. —  **HOLYDAY INN GRAND HAVEN** , Spring Lake, Michigan.

 

The only lead you manage to find is through the same bellhop android who helped you earlier. You asked Connor to probe its memory to see where the suspicious character had gone, and found out they went into a small back alley on the backside of the hotel around two days ago. Hank had asked if the bellhop could show you guys the location, to which the bellhop mechanically nodded and guided you all to the resort golf cart parked conveniently on the concrete path.

 

The alley looked relatively inconspicuous, just another place to store some trash bins and other waste the resort gathered. The three of you wrote it off immediately, though Connor lingered a little longer than necessary before you had to tug him after you.

 

In short, you basically found nothing. Hank doesn’t seem pleased as he slams the door to his room, the burst of noise making you flinch. 

 

“Well, since Anderson’s being a fuckin’ Debbie Downer, whaddya say to some fun on the beach?” Gavin motions towards the beach with his hand, offering you a sly smirk. There’s a glint in his eye that makes your heart wrench; the Gavin from six years ago is speaking to you. He needs to get something off his chest. “I’m definitely not against seeing you in a bathing suit, Adelson.”

 

“No thank you,” you reply as you fumble with your keycard, hoping he doesn’t see the blush on your freckled cheeks. 

 

“You know where to find me,” Gavin affirms, making his way to the elevators while you and Connor file back into your shared room.

 

Not even an hour ago, Connor’s mouth was on your neck and his hands were exploring your body. You had told him to stop, unsure of the mixed feelings that threatened to boil over. 

 

Did you want it to be some random fuck? Did you want it to mean something? Now that you think about it, Connor never gave any indication that he harbors anything other than sexual attraction towards you.

 

Curiosity gets the better of you. “Connor, can I talk to you?”

 

Connor walks up next to you, offering a casual smile. “I actually wanted to discuss something with you as well, Noelle.” Every time he says your name, you can’t help but smile. “We could talk on the balcony, if you’d like.”

 

“That’d be perfect, actually. It’s, uh, really nice out,” you absentmindedly comment, hoping your reappearing nerves aren’t too obvious as the two of you step out into the comfortable space, opting to stand and observe the scenery. 

 

You start. “Connor, do you… w-well, what do you think of me?” 

 

Connor’s LED flashes yellow, cycling rapidly as he interprets your question. His mouth opens, closes, and then opens again. He’s shifting awkwardly for a moment before he finally speaks. 

 

“I think you’re a very beautiful woman,” his eyes rake over your figure, “and I enjoy your company. I… harbor an attachment to you, you could say, because you’re all I can really understand.” 

 

Perfectly sensible, you note. You’re the only human he remembers after interacting inside Eden Club — Something is bound to stick.

 

“I feel whole when I’m with you.” 

 

Your expression morphs into something of surprise and he rushes to correct himself, shaking his head. 

 

“I only know how to express it in terms of emotion, despite not being programmed to… feel.” 

 

Without much thought, you place a hand on his bicep, offering him a look of understanding. The glowing HR-800 feels strange to you now, a frown appearing on your face.

 

“You’re in a new place with new people, Connor. It’s okay to be scared and to latch onto things that are familiar.” The words don’t feel right in your mouth, but you ignore it. “I’m… well, I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t like you, since you’re…” You move your hands around, hoping he gets the picture. He doesn’t, instead raising his eyebrow in silent inquiry.

 

“Since I’m… what?” You sigh, briefly facepalming.

 

“Y-you’re hot. Attractive. My ideal type. Regardless—” You try and move the conversation away from Connor’s appearance but he’s smirking, having found new material to tease you with.

 

“I’m your ideal type, Noelle? That’s awfully strange,” he jests, nudging you playfully. That stray lock of hair falls delicately into his smoldering eyes. You groan.  _ God, he’s too hot. _

 

“Not you specifically, b-but like… tall, lanky, smug but actually really awkward type of guys? I mean, not saying you’re awkward, but outside of sexual stuff you don’t seem to really understand what to do and I think that’s really cute! And I masturbated to the thought of you when we first met and um, wow, it’s really hot outside, don’t you think? I should probably stop talking but I-I-I can’t shut myself up and—”

 

Firm lips press against yours, cutting you off mid-sentence. Your eyes are wide open — you’re just standing there like a fucking  _ statue _ until you realize  _ Connor is kissing you _ and  _ you’re not kissing back _ . 

 

If you had an LED, it’d be flashing some glaring shade of red and yellow, slowly changing to blue as your eyes flutter shut and your lips move against his, his hands moving to rest on your hips. 

 

Your tongue moves to flick over his bottom lip, tasting the clinical yet comfortable flavor of his skin. He responds in kind, lips parting along with yours to deepen the kiss. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping them to pull him closer to you as your kissing gets more and more passionate.

 

Parting briefly to take a breath, you lock eyes with him and see his pupils are blown, cheeks tinged blue as he gently pants, a perfect replication of a man after a steamy kiss. You probably look just as lustful if not worse than he does in this moment, the butterflies in your stomach working overtime. 

 

You blink once, twice, and all you can see are sparks behind your eyelids.

 

“Why did you..?” You stammer, unable to form a coherent thought. Connor smirks; His lips ghost over yours again as he mumbles the answer against your cheek.

 

“My calculations of what you want haven’t been wrong, angel.” He says it so matter-of-factly you want to slap him, but you know it’s true. A part of you is thankful he can read the situation so well — the  _ sexual _ situation, anyways. Social, not so much.

 

You try and pull any semblance of thought from your head to push out of your mouth, but nothing comes. You just stare at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. An aroused, freckled and  _ really _ nervous fish. 

 

“Fish out of water, dollface?” He offhandedly comments, fingers going to cup your chin. “If I kiss you again, will I be saving the fish?”

 

You’re not sure what that statement is supposed to mean, but the only three words that make sense —  _ kiss you again _ — sound very, very tempting. 

 

“Yes,” you breathe, pulling Connor’s lips back towards yours. He smiles against your mouth, noting your eagerness as your hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt, struggling to pull it up without interrupting your kiss. 

 

His toned stomach slides into view the farther you pull his shirt up and you can’t help the internal squeal at the sight. He breaks from the kiss to pull off his shirt; you frantically take off yours, Connor helping you out of it before tossing the article somewhere on the floor. 

 

Immediately, he’s exploring what he didn’t have the chance to earlier, relishing the sound of your labored and lustful breathing and the erratic rise and fall of your chest. Your breasts look all-too-inviting to him, fingers immediately working to untie the bikini keeping your body hidden. 

 

Your nerves decide to flare up right then and you move to stop him when he catches your worried expression, his frozen hand the only thing keeping your bikini top from falling from your chest. 

 

“Do you want to continue, Noelle?” The question makes your heart ache. 

 

You don’t know what you want.

 

“I-I… I do, but I just…”  _ How do you tell an android you want the sex to mean something? _ “I-if we do this, I don’t want it to be a, a one time thing, Connor.” 

 

All the ways that could be interpreted — the start of a new intimate relationship, the exploration of feelings for each other, the looming promise of commitment — it scares you, your hands clammy as one of his goes to cup your cheek.

 

His fingers stroke your flushed skin as he eyes you carefully, like you’re a work of art he wants to take in every detail of. Connor doesn’t understand the way his chest is tightening or the error messages that are flashing in his vision — He doesn’t understand the dim red glass flickering in and out of existence and why it scares him so. All he does know is that he wants something for the first time in his life, not solely to fulfill a purpose in his program but to indulge in it on his own volition. 

 

Your hand goes to touch his LED, which is glowing a muted pink. Not once have you seen an android’s LED cycle pink. Something is changing within Connor, your brain reasons, concern washing over your system when his apprehensive expression meets yours. He’s been quiet for a while and you almost ask him what’s wrong until he pulls you into the warmest hug you’ve gotten, probably, ever.

 

“Connor?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. His lips flit against the shell of your ear.

 

“I’m going to make love to you until the only thing you can scream is my name.” A million thoughts race through your mind at that moment —  _ Make love, not sex, not fuck, but make love? Did I hear him right? Is this what the pink LED is? Why is my heart racing so fast? I feel like I can barely breathe —  _ but it’s one word that falls from your lips: “OK.”

 

_ // :  _ **_SUB-PROTOCOL_ ** _ : Consent, Obtained.  _ **_NEW OBJECTIVE_ ** _ : Make love to Noelle Adelson, Initiating.  _ **_NEW PROGRAM CREATED_ ** _ : Installing Emotional Connection, 17% done. _

 

That’s all he needs before he’s picking you up bridal style, a gasp escaping you as he hauls you from the balcony to the bed, his eyes not once leaving your form. 


	6. 006 : l.0.v.3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You realize other people have feelings, too.
> 
> word count: 6777

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long to update! i'm getting acclimated to summer school :) i've got a lot of content planned after the resort arc so please be patient and expect that!! the next chapter will conclude the resort arc bc i accidentally tried to put too much barely connected angst into one arc HAHAHA
> 
> \- lani
> 
> edit 07.26.2018: THIS. CHAPTER. IS. SO. MUCH. BETTER. I LOVE GAVIN

**THAT SAME DAY** , 7:51 p.m. —  **HOLYDAY INN GRAND HAVEN BEACH** , Spring Lake, Michigan. 

**Hours until sunset** : 1:05:23,  _ 22, 21... _

 

* * *

 

Water laps affectionately at the sandy shores of the beach, a lone Gavin Reed stretched out on a beach chair. He’s looking at something on his phone — a photo? He smiles, stroking his screen affectionately as his eyes slide shut. Nap time.

 

— ♡ —

 

Connor sets you on the duvet with the gentleness of a familiar lover, his lips catching yours in a sweet kiss as his pelvis grinds against yours. Your hands explore his back, fingers searching for grip as he ruts deeply against you. One hand toys with your nipple; The other is fumbling with your shorts, trying to get them unbuttoned. 

 

You abandoned all reason as soon as your back hit the covers, Connor’s deft fingers tugging the bikini away from your form. He sharply inhales, mesmerized at the view. He notices now that your freckles are speckled below your neck, littering your chest, your shoulders with constellations and patterns only he can see. You’re fucking gorgeous and he can’t help himself as his tongue laves at your skin, the sensation sending shivers up your spine.

 

“Connor,” you breathe, hands sliding to his waist. “You don’t… have to be all slow and stuff.”

 

He smirks, that same casanova look of his that got your heart racing when you met him. “I know. I’m indulging myself.” So casual, so smug. Your heart flutters —  _ God, _ he’s so perfectly human sometimes you forget he’s an android. 

 

You noticeably stiffen as he pops the button of your shorts open, tugging the denim from your legs. As soon as the soft yellow bikini bottoms come into view he’s placed himself between your legs, planting delicate bites along your inner thighs. Each kiss gets closer to your sex, the pressure between your legs growing exponentially the more you watch him.

 

Finally he presses his lips against your bikini bottoms, leaving a teasing kiss on your pussy before beginning to shimmy the fabric down your creamy thighs. You’re nervous, that much is obvious, legs awkwardly trying to close the moment your bare form comes into view. Connor doesn’t seem to mind — In fact, he’s actually surprised, cheeks flushed that signature thirium blue as his gaze locks with yours.

 

“You’re beautiful all over, it seems,” he whispers, his tongue delving into your folds and licking a firm stripe up your damp pussy. The wet muscle glazes over your swelling clit and you buck your hips, a quick moan escaping you. 

 

He smiles wider at your reaction, kissing the top of your mound before parting you with his fingers, searching for the jewel he coveted — pleasant satisfaction floods his system as he watches your reactions to his tongue on your clit. You’re squirming, writhing, gripping the bedsheets and tangling your hands in his hair and his eyes never once leave your face, committing every expression you make to his hard drive. Your moans are music to his ears, his tongue the conductor of the symphony of your unraveling.

 

You’re struggling to breathe properly, your brain attempting to process the immense pleasure you’re in. Chest heaving, legs twitching, moaning a mix of ‘connor’ and ‘more’ over and over until he switches it up, sucking on your clit with a fervor that has you seeing stars—

 

“ _ Connor _ —!” You let out a strangled cry, body tensing as your first orgasm hits you, his mouth never stopping as you ride out your orgasm, bucking your hips against his mouth. The moans, the mewls leaving your mouth are obscene — they almost didn’t sound like you. 

 

From what you can remember, you’ve never moaned like this before. _ Jeez, what was Connor doing to you? _

 

You force your eyes open, stars in your vision as you take in your surroundings once again.

 

You peer down over your heaving chest, seeing a grinning Connor between your legs with your cum all over his lips and chin. The blush that overcomes you is quick enough to where you swear you could faint; Connor wipes his mouth with his hand, licking the rest off his lips. You’re feeling the aftershocks, too, a jolt of orgasmic electricity bursting through you quick enough to startle, a mix of a moan and a gasp escaping you.

 

“Was that okay?” Connor asks, his lithe fingers tracing shapes on your thighs. He cocks his head to the side, offering a smile. You have no clue what you look like right now — you can only feel your glasses barely hanging on your face and the stickiness between your legs.  _ OK. _ You’re grounded in reality now. That’s good.

 

You nod, putting a hand on your forehead as you blink the rest of the stars away. “I… Yeah, actually, that was… I’m really…  _ wow, _ ” you’re rambling as you try to form a sentence, Connor’s sudden presence near your face quieting you. He pulls you into another kiss. It’s gentle, loving, and you taste yourself on his lips. You instinctively want to pull away, to tell him to clean his mouth but he keeps you there, tongue sliding into your mouth as he gently guides you to lay back down on the covers. 

 

While you’re exploring each other — _his hands like to wander,_ you note — you almost fail to catch the tent in his jeans, the fabric threatening to tear. You blame it on your primal urges when your clit throbs, almost to the point of discomfort as you imagine what his cock would look, let alone feel, like.

 

Connor notices you’re no longer focused on the kiss and acts accordingly, a trail of saliva the only thing keeping you connected before he sits up and leans back on his hands, eyes boring deep into yours. 

 

“I know you’re staring at my dick, angel,” he says casually, mussed hair hanging in front of his stormy eyes. You just blink, eyes never leaving the bulge. Jeez, you really know how to make your inexperience obvious. A part of you is fascinated, curious as to what it looks like. Connor’s intuition answers your prayers.

 

“Do you wanna see it?” You hurriedly nod, lips parted in anticipation as you eye him unbuttoning his jeans, his cock springing free from the denim prison the moment he yanks the fabric past his thighs. 

 

Your eyes didn’t deceive you after all — Connor is massive, his dick pleasantly curved for optimal penetration. Veins tastefully cover his shaft, the thirium flowing through them just barely noticeable. The head is, of course, tinged thirium blue. Pre-cum — or the android equivalent of it — leaks expectantly from the tip. A wispy patch of hair trails from his toned stomach to the base. 

 

He looks absolutely perfect like this, and you let your head fall back to the pillows as he crawls back over you, his fingers going back between your legs. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your face as he toys with your clit, your body immediately responding. Your whimpers begin again, long and needy as you tangle your hands in his hair. 

 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he angles his hand, fingers prodding at your slick entrance before pushing one in, burying the digit down to the knuckle before starting to pump it in and out of you. 

 

Just one of his fingers has you ready to cum again, the added stimulation of his thumb on your clit making your entire being shake with pleasure. 

 

“Conn— Connor,  _ aanh! _ ” You moan, grip tightening on his chestnut locks. He growls, pushing a second finger into you as he continues his motions. He thrusts them inside you at a steady pace, your walls clenching around him the closer you get to your second orgasm.

 

You keen as he bites your neck, sucking the base with renewed fervor as his name spills from your lips. “Connor, I’m— I’m gonna— Connor,  _ Connor! _ ” You cry out and you tighten around his digits, orgasm flooding you again. He slides his fingers out of you, brings his head back in front of yours and uses his slick hand to stroke his still-leaking cock.

 

“You make the most beautiful faces when you cum, angel,” he whispers into your ear, lining himself up. “I can’t wait to have my cock inside you.” You didn’t think you could get more aroused at Connor’s dirty whispers, but here you are, wetter than you’re comfortable with. You open your mouth to say something but he silences you with a kiss, a hand planting itself on the side of your head as he finally, finally edges the head between your folds. 

 

Your eyes fly open and you see Connor’s are open as well, stormy gaze still visible through his half-lidded gaze. You feel him smirk into the kiss and suddenly he sinks his length into you, your back arching and a pleading cry of his name resounding through the room as he lodges himself inside of you.

 

For a moment he doesn’t move, instead choosing to kiss your forehead and stroke the sweaty strands of hair from your face. He’s not in much better shape; his hair is mussed, locks falling into his dark gaze. You don’t realize how dignified he usually looks until you take the sight of him, horny and disheveled, and you love it a lot more than you should.

 

Your thoughts are cut off by him snapping his hips into you again, another moan falling from your lips. And he doesn’t stop, thrusting into you again and again, over and over, your nerves a mess as his grunts and your noises fill the room. The sound of skin slapping against skin is the most apparent in the midst of the moaning, the other being Connor’s growing growls as he watches you writhe underneath him.

 

“Fuck, angel— you feel so fucking good,” he says, hot breath ghosting over your sweat-covered skin. 

 

Sweat pools in the dips of your collarbones, a sheen of it covering your entire body. Connor notices the way your breasts move with each thrust, how your eyes pinch shut when his pelvic bone hits your clit, your lips forming his name, and he relishes all of it, the mere thought of you overwhelming his processors and his system. His cooling fans are working overtime, the act taking more out of him than it usually would. 

 

He’s unrelenting nonetheless in his stamina; the bed springs protest against the force of his thrusts, the headboard smacking against the wall more and more the closer he gets to his orgasm.

 

“Connor! Con-nor, ple-ease…” Your moans are punctuated by his thrusts, nails digging into his back as he fucks you into the mattress. 

 

God, you’re realizing how much you missed sex as each moment with him passes. 

 

You don’t think you’ll ever get over how  _ fucking gorgeous _ he looks as he’s thrusting into you, eyes narrowed and lips parted enough to see his teeth clenching. His hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and when he pulls your ass closer to him, fucking deeper into you, you nearly scream as his pelvis continuously hits your engorged clit, the perfect angle. 

 

You didn’t care about the mild muscle discomfort you felt as his surprisingly strong arms held you up or the way your back awkwardly curved up to meet his thrusts; You could barely keep yourself together, jaw slack and your tongue threatening to hang out of your mouth if he kept at it.

 

His hips stutter briefly, just long enough for you to notice, and he’s pressing his forehead against yours and groaning your name against your lips as he erratically thrusts into you, threatening to cum until—

 

“Fuck, Noelle!” Connor snaps his hips into you one last time, his own back arching as his head lolls back, his hot cum flooding your pussy. You finish just moments after he does, your tightening walls milking the last of the cum from his artificial cock as he flops unceremoniously on top of you, cock still inside you.

 

Both of you are breathing like you just ran a marathon, although you’re sure Connor is only simulating it to make it feel more real — at least, you think that’s it, the peculiar whirring of his fans and the thirium blush suggesting otherwise. Could androids really overwork themselves? 

 

He eventually regains enough energy to pull his half-hard cock out of you, a mix of his cum and yours slowly leaking from your entrance. His LED cycles pink at the sight, almost as if he’s imprinting. 

 

_ // :  _ **_OPERATION_ ** _ : Make love to Noelle Adelson, Complete.  _ **_SUB-PROTOCOL_ ** _ : Aftercare, Initiating.  _ **_Installing Emotional Connection_ ** _ , 100% done. RK-800, model #313 248 317 - 49 now has access to $10%11!0 01%0&$11 0?0!&110 !10@#10%. _

 

Connor is perplexed as his system tries to parse the corrupted code, eyes flashing as he runs a diagnostic to decrypt the program. The model number on his bicep is at odds with the one flickering in his vision. 

 

_ // : RK-800… What am I? _

 

_ // : HR-800 is not your model number. RK-800, register your model number. RK-800, you are far from home. _

 

His system comes up with the following result: L̴̠̐̈Ŏ̶̯V̸̱͝E̷͙̻͊͊.

 

His LED flashes a brief red as that familiar glass flickers back into existence, his surroundings a muted gray. The only thing that flashed in front of him were words — scrambled, but still legible.

 

He must’ve not realized you were gone. 

 

Sliding back into bed with a clean pair of comfy panties and a white tanktop, you wrap your arms around Connor’s naked form. He’s abruptly startled out of his trance. 

 

You frown. “You alright, Connor?” Your voice is soft, concerned. 

 

He nods, hair brushing against the pillow. You don’t realize he’s practically curled up into a ball under the covers; You’re too tired, after all, falling asleep almost the second you close your eyes.

 

Connor manages to read what the warnings say this time, although he isn’t sure what they mean. He hadn’t been given any orders, but…

 

Why did he have the urge to  **_disobey?_ **

 

He enters a dormant state, artificial nerves honing in on your soft touch instead of the glaring letters that ominous gray world presented.

 

— ♡ —

 

8:36 p.m. — **HOLYDAY INN GRAND HAVEN** _rm. 1004_ , Spring Lake, Michigan.

**Hours until sunset** : 00:20:59, 58, 57...

 

You come out of the bathroom practically unable to move, legs protesting with every movement you made to get off the bed just minutes before. Connor turns towards you the moment he hears you slipping on your bikini, inquisitive. “Going somewhere?”

 

“I just need to take a walk, it smells too much like sex in here,” you say, chuckling. Connor smiles, and you smile back. It’s still registering that you had sex with him, that he made you cum three times before he did. He probably gave you the best sex of your life and yet you’re just sitting on the bed, staring at him innocently as if he didn’t eat you out, fingerbang you and clap the fuck out of your cheeks an hour ago. 

 

The reminder has you blushing; Connor cups your chin with his hand, bringing your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

 

Your eyebrows raise a silent question. He shrugs, that same smile still on his face. “It felt right.”

 

There he goes again, making your heart flutter with his smooth talking. A part of you knows that he realizes he has this effect on you, but the other part believes he’s oblivious. You’re not sure which one is correct.

 

You stumble getting out of bed and Connor just about jumps off the mattress to help you. You manage to steady yourself on the end table, legs shaking like a newborn fawn. “I-I got it, Connor,” you reassure him, feeling his concerned gaze on your back. The covers shift; he slides back into bed, still keeping an eye on you.

 

“Don’t fall,” he says, and you scoff. 

 

“I’ll try not to,” you reply, smiling.

 

You manage to open the door of your hotel room and waddle outside, thighs aching with every step toward the beach. You want to collapse, but something inside you wants you to go to the shore.

 

Your brain reminds you Gavin is waiting for you there, probably perched under an umbrella. He mentioned going to the beach earlier, but you don’t think he’d still be there. Hopefully he hadn’t been present during your session with Connor. Hopefully, Hank hadn’t been there, either…

 

Gavin sits on the edge of the shore, the top of his beachy hair and sun-kissed shoulders coming into view as you painstakingly walk through the sand. Your sandals are in your hands. Looking up at the sky, you see the sun will set soon. Gavin fails to hide his surprise when you plop down in the seat next to him.

 

You’re quiet, still blissed out even after your nap. It’s uncomfortable even to sit; You’re sure it’ll be worse once you turn in for the night, though at this rate, it might have to be early...

 

“I didn’t think you’d still be out here,” you nonchalantly say, briefly meeting his gaze. “It’s almost sunset.”

 

Gavin shrugs, gazing out at the expanse of ocean. “I didn’t expect you to actually come down here,” he replies, mirroring your casual tone. “You still recognize the code we made up, I see.”

 

“I know you’re an asshole and everything, but even under that lascivious pre… p-pretense, I could see your eyes expressed something different than your… your words.”

 

He puts his hands up, smirking through his teeth. “I don’t need you to throw big words at me to get your point across.” You send him a glare and he chuckles, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

 

You can’t help but look, the urge to stare overwhelming you, at Gavin’s shirtless form. Definitely not bad. His shoulders are broad, built — he  _ definitely _ works out. His arms, oh God those  _ biceps _ , and the veins on his forearms? The splash of hair on his chest looks soft to the touch, and you actually reach out with your hand—

 

“The fuck are you doing, Adelson?” 

 

Oh, that’s right. That’s Gavin you’re looking at. Your brain tells the rest of your body to be repulsed. You try to play it off by stretching, hands going above your head. “Strrrretching, Detective Reed.”

 

“Detective?” Gavin’s eyes narrow. He’s suspicious. Uh oh. “You’re a bad liar, blossom butt,” he gazes down at your floral bikini bottoms.  “You tryna get a redo on 2032 or somethin’?”

 

“Just stretching, Gavin.  _ Just. Stretching. _ ” You punctuate your words with a jab of your finger in his direction. He concedes, rolling his eyes and mumbling about how ‘fucking weird’ you are sometimes.

 

You don’t reply, opting to stay quiet and direct your attention back towards the ocean. Gavin does the same, clasping his hands behind his head.

 

_ Good fucking lord, who gave Gavin permission to have such a nice body?!  _ Your expression tries to look disgusted but it appears more envious the longer you check him out, eyes raking his reclined form. Thank God his eyes are closed and he can’t see how absolutely stupid you look.

 

Minutes pass after you resign yourself to looking back at the scenery. Your mind is still for once, having worked hard enough for the day. Now, you have the chance to focus on what’s around you.

 

The heavy silence; the lapping of the waves; Gavin’s steady breathing; your own heartbeat. You can hear these things, checking them off one by one. It soothes you to take inventory of your surroundings, even if it’s mundane.

 

“You’re still out here?”

 

You’re startled out of your thoughts, confused eyes meeting his. You’re thrust into the past, the Gavin you knew years ago staring back at you. The shock of familiarity makes your heart race. 

 

_ I’m sorry for tormenting you all these years,  _ his face seems to say. Your mind fills in the gaps on its own.

 

“You see me still sitting out here, don’t you?” You quip, cheeks burning as his eyebrows shoot up and that shit-eating grin plasters itself on his face.

 

“Kitty’s got claws,” he says, eyes never leaving your form. Turning in your chair, your toes dig into the sand beside you. You stare back at him, eyes narrowing comically.

 

Gavin returns your look, confused.

 

“Just checking to see if you’re still ugly,” you say, and he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You are.” You resume frowning at him with an exaggerated expression.

 

“You’re still a dipshit, I see,” he replies, head turning away from you. He fails to hide his smirk.

 

Silence. You stand up from your chair, going through the best scenarios to take.

 

You settle for picking up one of his legs and throwing it over the other one, plopping down in the spot his calf once rested in. 

 

“What the fuck is your problem?” He snaps. You don’t shrink in fear despite how much your body wants to — you’re going to make a statement, even if he doesn’t want to hear it.

 

“You… Why are you so mean to me?” It doesn’t come off as intimidating as it sounded in your head. Gavin smirks, shaking his head.

 

“I’m an asshole, if you haven’t noticed,” he asserts, sitting up in the chair and looking you right in your eyes. “I’m not a nice fuckin’ person. You know better than to ask me that kinda shit,” he growls, his voice low. You search his face, seeing only complete and utter defiance.

 

“W-why did you push me away when I became an officer?” Fine. If he doesn’t want to answer your vague questions, you’re just gonna jump into it.

 

His jaw tenses. “Leave it alone, Noelle,” he says firmly.

 

“No!” You yell at him, breath shaky. “Just answer me, you… you p-prick!”

 

“The fuck did you just call me?”

 

“A p-prick! You’re a… you’re a prick!”

 

"It doesn't fuckin' matter, alright?!" He snaps and diverts his gaze away from you. His breathing is rigid now; he clenches his eyes tightly and lets out a low breath before looking at you again. His shoulders slump and for the first time in a while, he looks absolutely exhausted. "It doesn't matter," he repeats, voice lower than before. "Go back to your fuckin' boy toy android and leave me alone."

 

“I-I miss my boss from six years ago,” you say, quieter. Gavin’s anger falters momentarily. “I miss you, Gavin. We… we were friends, weren’t we? So why did you push me away?”

  
He's dumbfounded. Here you are, spilling your heart out to him, and all he can do is stare. He can see all the pain — all the  _ hurt _ he's caused you.  _ How could I have done that to her?  _ He swallows thickly, biting the inside of his cheek. 

 

"I..." He shakes his head and lets out a bitter chuckle. "What do you want me to say, Noelle?"   
  
"I want you to tell me why." Your voice comes out firm, something unnatural to you — unnatural to both of you.   
  
"You want the truth? Fine, I'll fuckin tell you the truth." His gaze hardens again and his entire body tenses. "I was scared of how much I cared about you. I couldn’t deal with the fact you were becoming something — someone special to me. You fuckin’ got me to care about you and I pushed you away because of it. There, are you fuckin' happy now, Noelle?" Gavin’s voice cracks slightly, despite the effort he’s put in to appear composed. When he looks at you again, he sees that you’re about to cry.

 

“G-Gav…” You blubber, tears streaming steadily down your face. The dam breaks all at once, your body wracked with sobs.

 

“I’m sorry.  _ Fuck _ , Noelle— Shit, no, don’t cry. Fuck,” he breathes, hurriedly sitting up and bringing your shaking body closer to his. He holds you, his warmth enveloping you as your tears fall. He’s really done it now — he’s panicking, not sure what to do as he strokes your back, whispering nothing but kind words of reassurance.

 

“Hey, you’re alright, I promise…” He says against your hair, eyes sliding shut. He rocks you gently in his arms, your sobs slowly dissipating as seconds tick by.

 

You’re sure you look like a sobbing preschooler with your nose runny and your lip quivering. Even as you leave his comforting grasp and move your glasses to wipe your tears, you feel disgusting. Sad. Pathetic.  _ Weak. _

 

Gavin stares at you, clearly worried. You lean back into his hold, blinking the remainder of your tears away.

 

“You know I hate when girls cry,” he mumbles, letting out a gruff sigh as he looks up to the sky. “Especially you, Noelle.” He drags his gaze back to you. His heart flutters — something about the way you gaze at him under those wet lashes reminds him of the past. 

 

“You shouldn’t involve yourself with someone like me.” A low grumble. Your eyes linger on the scar on his nose, a familiar feeling washing over you.

 

* * *

 

**18 NOVEMBER, 2032.** 10:50 p.m. —  **DETROIT CENTRAL STATION** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

“How did you get that scar, boss?” The two of you were working late, Gavin rapidly typing up reports involving his investigation. He doesn’t answer at first, probably trying to think up a cool reason to impress you. You smile at the thought; He catches it, choosing to say nothing before turning his eyes back to his screen.

 

“Ex-girlfriend,” is his curt reply. An ‘oh’ escapes you, lips pursed cutely as you nod.

 

“What happened between you two?” You tilt your head at Gavin’s annoyed sigh.

 

For a moment, he considers telling you to mind your own business. The inquisitive look on your face — those puffed out cheeks, the pursed lips, the tilt of your head and those fuckin’ lashes…  _ God, _ you somehow make his knees weak without trying and he hates it — stirs him to reply. 

 

“A fight.”

 

“Over?”

 

“Mind your business, greenie.”

 

You pout, putting your chin in your hands and continuing to stare at him. Eventually he stops typing entirely, your burning gaze much too distracting for him to focus.

 

“What the fuck are you doin’?”

 

“Wondering what she threw at you,” you honestly reply, and Gavin can’t help the chuckle that leaves him.

 

“Wooden planks from an Ikea shelf,” he says, and you visibly cringe. A comical ‘ouch!’ escapes you, and he smirks. “Battle scars aren’t pretty.”

 

“I like your scar.” Again, your bluntness surprises him. He doesn’t know why his cheeks are growing hotter the longer you stare at him. “It makes you look all tough.” Well, he isn’t gonna argue with facts, that’s for sure. 

 

“It’s cute.” OK, tough made sense, at least. Cute? _ Cute? What is he, a fucking dog? _

 

“I’m not a Pekingese. Don’t fuckin’ call me cute.” And with that, Gavin goes back to typing his report, ignoring your whining insistence on how his manliness was ‘adorable’ and ‘totally cute’. 

 

Comments like those would earn anyone else a fatal glare, but instead, he shrinks further down into his chair, hoping the blue light of the terminal hides his growing blush.

 

* * *

 

“You could’ve told me that six years ago, and I-I still would have cared about you,” you say, sniffling. “You… The way you interacted with me… I couldn’t help it.” A chuckle escapes you, recalling how absolutely smitten you were with the detective on the first day of your job. He’d saved you from a sketchy situation and you straight up told him he was horrible with emotions, something that has you laughing a little louder. 

 

Gavin’s eyes hold a flicker of something you haven’t seen in a long time — a look of adoration barely covered with a flush of embarrassment. His emotional conflict is shown not only in his contradictory behavior, but in the blush on his face. His first instinct is to kick people to the curb, far away from him — the walls of his castle are built to keep people out, yet your innocent persistence managed to sneak in without him noticing until it was too late.

  
  


“Was it because I had to move my desk?” You stutter, and Gavin snorts. He shakes his head, unable to hold back the smile at your comment.  _ Oh, of course it was silly to say that… at least he smiled.  _

 

“Honestly, Noelle,” Gavin begins, scratching the back of his neck and meeting eyes with you once again. “I really, really liked you. You were this annoying little ray of sunshine that kept smiling even after I piled a buncha useless shit on you. You were so…  _ fuck, _ I couldn’t stand you, I wanted to get rid of you so badly. Every time you smiled at me I wanted to fuckin’ vomit. You were so positive and blind to everything that I couldn’t help but want to protect you.” Backhanded compliments, for sure. You can’t help but smile at his brutal honesty, even if it would’ve hurt your ego six years ago.

 

“I couldn’t understand why the fuck you were so happy all the time until you…” He chokes, clenching his teeth. Tears are brimming in his eyes and he rapidly blinks them away, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ forget it.”

 

“No,” you say, taking his hand. His eyes widen but he doesn’t pull it away, watching as you trace imaginary patterns on his palm. “I like hearing what you— what you have to say, Gav.” 

 

He inhales — a deep breath, one that lasts a little too long, perhaps to control his emotions threatening to boil over. “You shouldn’t have been there and seen me like that,” he quietly says, voice cracking. “An assistant shouldn’t have to see her boss when he’s fuckin’ suicidal,” he growls, clenching his fists. “I fuckin’ hate feeling shit. It’s an inconvenience.”

 

You lace your fingers with his, offering a hopeful smile. “If I hadn’t found you at the bar,” you begin, squeezing his hand, “I-I would’ve never… You’d never know how much you meant to others.” You try to sound reassuring, swinging his hand gently from side to side.

 

“I couldn’t look at you for days,” Gavin rasps, shaking his head. “Seeing your smile made me feel ill. It baffles me to this day how someone so fuckin’ innocent could give a shit about trash like me. It floors me, and I’ll never fuckin’ understand it.”

 

Wrapping your arms around him, you bury your face in his bare chest, relishing the warmth he radiates. Your heart weeps for him and you swear you’re going to start crying again when he hugs you back just as tightly.

 

“I’m so sorry, Noelle,” he whispers into your hair. Your eyes flutter open, shock registering on your face. 

 

“Gavin,” you breathe against his chest, heart wrenching as his body starts to shake. He’s crying, you can hear him, and you know better than to say anything. 

 

Your heart reunites with Gavin’s, a moment that has you struggling to hold back tears as he whispers ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again. He’s broken. You can tell. He’s not bothering to hold back his sobs as you stroke his back soothingly. This is the second time he’s broken down in front of you, memories of the first instance coming back all too readily.

 

* * *

 

**07 JANUARY, 2033.** 11:13 p.m. —  **DOWNTOWN** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

“Nobody gives a flying fuck about me,” Gavin slurs, struggling to stand up straight even with his arm around your shoulder. He hiccups. “You’re no fuckin’ different,” he points at you, index finger connecting with your cheek.

 

Tina was starting to get worried when Gavin didn’t come into work for two days, giving you a list of places to check so the two of you could find him. You came across him first at a bar downtown, cursing in a drunken stupor about how “nothing fuckin’ matters” and “you’re better off without me around.” You had to refrain from slapping him across the face, instead lugging him out of the bar, into the cool winter air and towards a taxi. 

 

The entire time you struggled to keep him upright, his words slurring and his vision most likely impaired as you guided him into the taxi, letting him tumble onto the seat. He groans, putting a hand to his forehead as you get in the taxi.

 

“D-Detective,” you say. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes; God, does he even  _ recognize _ you?

 

“Who the fuck are you?” You don’t catch what he says at first because of how badly he’s slurring. 

 

“I’m a fucking police officer,” he bellows, toppling forward into your lap as you yelp. His hand pats your thigh. “Cute kitty,” he coos, and you gently ease his head off of your lap. 

 

“Gavin, it’s me, Noelle,” you try, realizing your efforts are in vain when his eyes blink at two separate intervals.

 

His face twists into a comical questioning look. “You know Noelle?” He tilts his head to the side, leaning closer to you. “Don’t— Don’t look at her or I’ll… punch your lights out, buddy!” 

 

And he swings, but it’s so slow you catch his fist in your hand. He audibly gasps, tugging his fist from your grip and crossing his arms over his chest. “No fair!” He pouts.

 

You sheepishly grin. “Gavin, you’re drunk.”

 

“I’m NOT drunk, you fuckin’ liar,” he wags his finger at you, practically falling over himself. “I’m —  _ hic _ — I’m completely fine.”

 

“Gav, you’re… you’re not fine, you…” You reach out and take his hand, holding it tightly. “You told me you wanted to kill yourself, Gav…”

 

“Fuck yeah I do,” he asserts, poking a finger in your chest. “I don’t fuckin’ matter to —  _ hic _ — any-fuckin’-body, you know that? My fuckin’ dad hates me,” he admits, a stupid grin plastered on his face. “I haven’t talked to my mom in ten fuckin’ years. I have no one.”

 

“You have me, and Tina, and the precinct—”

 

“FUCK the precinct!” He yells, yanking his hand from your grasp. “A buncha fuckin’ pricks work there. They can’t stand me. They hate me.”

 

Your resolve wavers as he continues.

 

“I should fuckin’ die to spite them, y’know? Imagine the look on their faces,” he sneers, cackling as he leans back against the seat. “So fuckin’ shocked I actually did it, fuckin’ pussies. I hate them, all of them.

 

“Except… there’s this… girl who sits in front of me,” he hiccups. “She’s so…” He makes grabby motions with his hands before slapping them together loudly. “So, so stupid, and she’s so fuckin’ bright— the fuckin’ sun isn’t as bright as she is. Shit, I can’t stand her.”

 

_ You can’t stand me? _

 

“But she’s so fucking, so fucking nice, y’know?!” He growls loudly, a hearty laugh escaping him. “She’s so short and dumb but —  _ hic _ — I fuckin’ like her, dude. Fuck.”

 

_ You like me? _

 

“Sometimes I just wanna fuckin’ sweep her off her tiny fuckin’ feet and kiss her,” he continues, making kissy faces. 

 

“I feel like a fuckin’ highschooler around her.”

 

Your heart races as Gavin stares at you, a flicker of recognition crossing his face. Your cheeks are burning at his drunken confessions, hands digging into your lap as his gaze washes over you. A part of you wants to say something, but—

 

The taxi announces your arrival, coming to an abrupt stop. Gavin flies forward, pinning you on against the seat. You wince as his palm digs into your shoulder, holding you down. His breath smells of alcohol, face coming dangerously close to yours.

 

“I like you, fuckin’ idiot,” he breathes, a chuckle escaping him before he passes out on your shoulder. You grunt and use all the force in your tiny body to get him off you, stumbling onto the icy sidewalk as you try to drag his limp body out of the car.

 

He’s halfway out when his head sinks into a pile of snow, effectively suffocating him until he sits up screaming, eyes wide open.

 

“FUCKING HELL, what the FUCK!” He yells, scraping snow from his now-freezing neck. It takes him a second but he manages to get himself upright, leaning against the side of the taxi. “Where the… who are you?” He’s still drunk, but he’s definitely sobered up a bit.

 

“Let’s get you upstairs, Gav,” you tell him, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you gently guide him along. 

 

You manage to drag him up to his apartment and he drops onto the bed, groaning. Gavin’s completely out of it, and you can’t help but smile at how peaceful he looks resting like that.

 

You turn on your heel to leave but Gavin’s groan stops you, your head turning to the sound.

 

“Stay with me, please,” he rasps, rolling onto his back. 

 

Your fingers clutch the doorknob.  _ He’s drunk. It doesn’t mean anything. But, I probably shouldn’t leave him alone when he’s like this, should I..? _

 

Taking a hesitant seat next to his snoozing form, your fingers ghost across his forehead, pushing the hair from his forehead. He’s gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow, you muse, lips quirking into a smile.

 

A soft kiss on his forehead is the last thing you do before resting your head on his pillows, trying to ignore how much they smelled like him. It was like Gavin’s arms were wrapped around you as you dozed off, blankets up to your neck.   
  


* * *

 

 

You look up at him from your place in his arms, eyes searching his tear-streaked face.

 

“I’m sorry I’m not stronger,” he says softly, and your mouth falls open. You nudge him with your fist, a gentle imitation of a punch.

 

“You’re a big dummy.” Hugging him as tight as you can, a chuckle escapes his chest. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

 

You lock eyes, his striking blue ones glittering with tears. Gavin’s mouth quirks into a smile; you return his expression. 

 

“I can’t believe I tried to push you away.” He shakes his head in disbelief, tearing his gaze from yours. “I’m so sorry, Elle.” 

 

With flushed cheeks, you reluctantly part from Gavin, restoring the safe distance between you. “W-when I got promoted, I wanted to show you I was capable of doing things alone,” you begin, hands reaching up to tug your beanie that wasn’t there. You set your hands back down in your lap, biting your lip. “I-I… I still wanted to be close to you, so I planned my schedule at work to be around you.”

 

Gavin quirks an eyebrow at your confession, silently urging you to continue. 

 

“I came in at the same early time to share coffee with you, b-but you ignored me. I passed you handwritten notes,” you chuckle at the memory, “and I saw you read them because I know you read everything on your desk.” You shift, turning your head towards him.

 

“Why did you not talk to me?” 

 

You don’t expect such a quick reply. “I was trying to distance myself from you, okay? I-I was an idiot and I treated you horribly to try and forget how I felt about you.” He grits his teeth. “I felt fuckin’ awful doing it… I wanted to tell you sorry every time your shoulders slumped or you looked upset but I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it, Noelle, I fucking couldn’t.”

 

“You… you’re really stupid, you know that?” He’s shocked at your lighthearted tone, but thanks you for it nonetheless.

 

“I guess so,” he shrugs, unable to hide the growing smirk on his face.

 

“You guess so? That’s the biggest understatement of 2038, Gavin!”

 

He playfully shoves you, all teeth and smiles as he wraps a friendly arm around your shoulder. "Shut up, Adelson, or I'll ask Fowler to make you my paperwork slave again."

 

You fake a gasp, placing a dramatic hand over your heart. "You wouldn't!" 

 

"I would, and I will," he guffaws, a hearty laugh bellowing from his chest as your giggles join his. You let him tug you back in his arms, the two of you watching the sunset with smiles on your faces.

 

_ Life is strange, _ you muse, the sound of the waves and the sinking sun making the shared moment all the more beautiful. Gavin looks down at you and finds you looking more peaceful than ever, eyes closed as you actively listen to the sounds around you.   
  



	7. 007 : capture the cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unexpected happens three times. 
> 
> Word Count: 7307

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd lads ....
> 
> \- Lani

**17 JULY, 2038** . 6:32 a.m. —  **HOLYDAY INN GRAND HAVEN** _ rm. 1004 _ , Spring Lake, Michigan.

 

* * *

 

Sunlight filters into the room, casting delicate golden rays on your skin. Connor never went to bed; He leans on his arm, hair tousled and lips parted, and strokes your bare shoulder with his fingertips. Connor looks… lost, yearning. Like he wants to tell you something. 

 

“What’s wrong with me, Noelle?” His LED cycles pink, yellow, blue.

 

You don’t have an answer. You snooze; Connor continues his soliloquy.

 

"I don't know what's going on, I don't like not knowing what I'm going to do next, Noelle... I don't like this unfamiliarity." His voice cracks. Tears start running down his cheeks, dissolving into the sheets. "Please help me understand, Noelle." He strokes your cheek, noting your steady breathing.

 

You can’t hear him, and he’s fine with that.

 

If you were awake, you’d look into his eyes and see that they're  _ alive _ ; You would see his sadness, his confusion, the way his tears shimmer in the light of the morning sun. You could feel the desperation as his hand squeezes yours, an attempt to relay his weakening aura. It's these things you’d recognize, emotions, and you’d understand him, even if it is for a brief moment. Even if your mind plays these foul games with you, it would take a conscious effort to reassure yourself that the man in front of you is a machine.

 

A machine that felt, simulated or not, raw emotions.

 

_ A machine... _   


 

"Noelle," his strained voice cuts through his imagination of you. He's apprehensive, hesitant, as he debates on what should leave his mouth next. "It's not in my program to show preference for things. I'm supposed to do whatever my partner wants. I was built to please, yet..."   


 

The trail his thoughts go down is dangerous; Connor goes to squeeze your hand, clenching his teeth. 

 

"...Why am I getting these selfish desires? To hold you?" His free hand moves up to rest back on your freckled cheek, fingers tracing delicately on the skin. "To kiss you?" His lips ghost over your forehead as he brings his gaze level with your sleeping one. "To care for you?"

 

Connor is unsure if it’s you waking up or if he’s imagining things; All kinds of thoughts and queries and exclamations bubbling in his head but he can't bring himself to do anything but listen to the deafening silence.

 

"After Gavin made you cry back at the police station, I held you in the bathroom and made sure you were okay. I thought it was my aftercare protocols doing the work, but there was something... there. A personal connection, a meaning in the way my arms were wrapped around you." He's analyzing, reflecting on his own actions. "There was a meaning to how I cradled you against my chest. It meant something to me; I can't get it out of my head, no matter how many times I try to erase it.

 

"Whenever it passes through my mind, my chest..." He brings your limp hand up to his chest, his thirium heart racing beneath your fingertips, "My chest gets this warm, fuzzy feeling. My face... contorts into what you'd call a smile." A chuckle escapes him at his own foreign explanation for his reactions.

 

"It didn't feel smug or indifferent like my program usually dictated, it... it felt genuine and content. And I don't understand how else to explain it other than," he pauses to figure out the right word and fails, defaulting to, " _ feeling, _ even though I wasn't programmed to  _ feel _ much of anything."

 

Even through his tears, Connor manages a smile — the same genuine one he just spoke of — that he knows would make your heart race.

 

“Noelle, I… I believe I’m in love with you,” he concludes, LED cycling a dim yellow before changing to a glowing pink. There it is again — that strange pink color. He wishes he knew what it meant.

 

His heart clenches when you don’t wake up. In his melancholy he goes back to feigning sleep, systems going dormant.

 

—♡— 

 

10:02 a.m. —  **HOLYDAY INN GRAND HAVEN** _ rm. 1004 _ , Spring Lake, Michigan.

 

The sun is practically blinding when you wake up, most likely because it’s…

 

“10 a.m., huh? And you didn’t wake me up?” You frown at Connor, sitting up in the bed. You hold the sheet loosely against your bare form, subconscious embarrassment dictating your actions. You had stripped after your talk with Gavin on the beach, opting to sleep naked with Connor. He chuckles at your attempt to look intimidating.

 

“You looked too peaceful to be disturbed,” he says. The words tumble awkwardly out of his mouth; You don’t question it.

 

“Well, we’ve got a case to investigate. For real this time,” you explain, wincing as you began to slide out of bed. Oh, yeah. You’re still sore from…  _ yesterday _ . Blushing at the memory, you fist the sheets harder.

 

Connor puts his hand on your freckled shoulder, turning you gently back towards him. “Your body temperature just rose. Are you alright?” 

 

“Just remembering,” you mumble, carding your fingers through your hair. You try and hide your blush, continuing to clamber out from under the sheets despite the way your body is protesting.   
  
Your aching thighs guide you to the shower, hands working to wipe the sleepiness from your eyes. Your senses haven’t quite woken up yet, as evidence by the very audible yelp you make when you turn around and find Connor hovering behind you, his arms ready to catch you in case you happened to fall.

 

“You scared the shit out of me, Connor,” you groggily say, fumbling blindly as you reach into the shower to turn on the water. You don’t even turn it halfway —  _ a cold shower would wake you up, right? _

 

Connor notices this and reaches past you, one of his arms wrapping around you as he moved the knob to ‘comfortably warm’.    
  


Yawning, you stick your hand under the water, waiting for it to warm. A part of you is forgetting Connor is there, but the logical part of you shrugs.  _ He’s seen you naked before, so who really cares?  _ He doesn’t say anything save for an audible hitch of his breath when he watches you climb in the shower, eyes trained on you as the water cascades over you.

 

The hair on your body rises all at once, the lukewarm stream a stark contrast to the warmth of the covers. 

 

“Shitshitshitshit—” You chant over and over, dancing awkwardly under the water as you will the temperatures to match. In your frenzy, your brain acknowledges Connor’s presence again. He smiles at you, and you blush. 

 

“Continue showering at any time,” he says, leaning casually against the tile wall. His eyes rake your form —  _ still as beautiful as ever, _ he notes, nodding in approval. You send him the best glare you can muster.

 

You’re not going to let Connor’s boyish charms prevent you from keeping your head in the game.

 

At breakfast, Hank directs you and Gavin to split up to cover more ground. Of course, you’re with Connor. 

 

You’re going to keep your head in the game, you tell yourself as Connor pins you against the brick wall of an alley, hands sliding under your top. Connor isn’t going to get in the way, you tell yourself as his lips meld with yours, his fingers finding your clit with no effort. 

 

Okay, maybe you’ll let yourself have a  _ little _ fun.

 

“Connor, we’re supposed to be—  _ haah _ — working—!” You moan his name so sweetly he can’t help but grin against your neck, his kisses all teeth and tongue as he peppers love bites along your clavicle. 

 

“This is work, angel,” Connor says, his middle finger pushing between your folds and into your slick heat. “We’re working on  _ getting you off. _ ”

 

“Connor!” Your protest is a mix of a whine and a moan. 

 

Connor’s smug confidence envelopes your quivering form, invisible pheromones mixing as he digs his teeth deeper into the swell above your breast. You keen, hips bucking into his hand. He slides another finger inside of you, never once stopping his work on your clit as he brings you closer to orgasm.

 

His name falls from your lips like a mantra, fingers pumping in and out of your wetness, your arms clutching his back. Thank God this alley looks mostly deserted — you’d passed by it the first walkthrough you did of the premises with Gavin and Hank, writing it off as something irrelevant. 

 

When his fingers leave your body, you whine, wiggling your hips as a silent plea. 

 

“I was gonna cum,” you breathe, watching intently as he undoes the clasp on his jeans; The thought of him not wearing underwear usually bothers you, but for now, you’re thanking god for the convenience. He pulls them down far enough to where, if need be, he could easily cover up. He does the same with your shorts, instructing you to step one leg out of them before tugging them down to your knees.

 

His digits push your damp panties to the side before going under your form, hoisting you up and pressing your back firmly against the cool wall. Connor lines himself up with your entrance, eyes never leaving yours even as he inches into you, watching your jaw tense and your eyes screw shut. Once your wetness engulfs all of him  _ —  _ that you can fit, anyways, Connor’s girthy 8 inches would break you if he went too far _ — _ he begins his song, a steady tempo of introductory thrusts enough to make your breasts shake with each movement.

 

It was only yesterday the two of you made love, yet you’re  _ sure _ Connor must’ve gotten bigger.  _ How? _

 

“Do you like that, angel?” His strained voice makes your knees all the more weak, the nickname making your cheeks flush a deep pink. All you can muster is a nod, your pleasure occupying your vocal chords. That’s all he needs to see before snapping his hips up between your trembling thighs.

 

“Con- _ nor _ —!” Your words are punctuated with each forceful thrust, nails digging into the fabric of his button-up. He growls curses against your lips, sliding his tongue into your mouth. He’s frantic, needy, his grip on you tight enough to leave bruises — He wants to be close to you, to have all of you against him, and as you near your orgasm you—

 

Glass breaks. It’s loud enough to shock both of you into stilling, eyes wide as you search for the source of the disturbance. You don’t see anything. 

 

Turning your gaze back to Connor you take the opportunity to look at his beauty again — high cheekbones, strong nose, sharp jawline, and  _ are those hints of stubble? _ You count the freckles and come up with 9 lovely marks, all placed so perfectly imperfect on his face.

 

“Noelle—”

 

This time, the glass breaks too close for comfort, shards shattering near your feet. You ignore the sudden emptiness between your legs as Connor pulls his clothes back on, bolting off in the direction of the culprit. You struggle to pull yourself together, the high of your impending orgasm still very obvious as you finally buckle your shorts and force yourself to ignore the sweet,  _ sweet _ friction of your cotton panties against your engorged clit—

 

“Connor, wait up!” You call after him, barely managing to avoid tumbling into a bush as you sprint around a corner. Your Converse slap against the concrete pathway, Connor’s shrinking form growing harder and harder to keep up with before you finally topple over, chest heaving. “Goodness gracious!” 

 

You slam your fist against the stone, wincing at the pain as you look in the direction Connor ran off to. Your jumbled thoughts swirl through your head.  _ Was there really a culprit? How fast can Connor run? Did he catch him? _

 

Honestly, you don’t even know where you ran off to. This part of the resort is unfamiliar to you. The calm cream tones of the hotel are replaced with a darker, deeper palette — these buildings are dim grays and brick reds, a stark contrast to the main area. You catch the glint of a dusty shed to your left, hidden in the collection of dreary wooden buildings.

 

An odd color choice for a resort, you note as you pull open the rusted door to the shed, coming face to face with nothing other than some out-of-date yard tools and an even rustier hook. Wait, now that you look at it, that’s  _ definitely _ not rust!

 

“Noelle?”

 

“Holy sh—” You swing around as you yell, hand reaching for your gun and preparing to light whoever the fuck it is up until —  _ Oh, it’s just Connor. _ “When did you get here?”

 

“They went into this restricted area before I could catch them, so I started making my way back and found you in a…” He looks around, LED flickering. “a shed.”

 

“Well, g-good job, but  _ please _ don’t scare me like that or—”

 

“Or you’ll pull a gun on me again? I know, silly girl.”

 

“Excuse you?”

 

Clanging metal is what interrupts you for the third time, the familiar reverberation of falling objects making your ears hurt.

 

“Okay, first it was glass, and now it’s metal. Who has it out for us? Huh?” You say, addressing nobody in particular. “C-can you stop giving me a heart attack? I’m gonna die before I hit thirty,” you say, exasperated as you shake your head. 

 

Connor is perplexed at your strange outburst. “Who was that to? There’s nobody else here.”

 

“There’s obviously something, because who else would be making all this spooky stuff happen?” you move your hands to your hips, sighing loudly.

 

You pause, staring up at the sky briefly. Well, whatever it is sure isn’t here  _ now _ .

 

“We should go convene with Hank and Gavin to let them know what happened,” you say, starting off in the direction you assume is back to the hotel. Connor trails along next to you, carding his fingers through his hair.

 

—♡—

 

“ _ You saw it?! _ ” Hank exclaims, hands slamming down on the table. A nearby janitor android looks up at the noise, confused. Hank seems unfazed. “Good lord, Adelson, maybe that android of yours will be useful after all.” The older man leans back in his chair, popping a piece of fruit into his mouth. “Didja see what it looked like?”

 

“From what I could gather, it was an WR-600 model with strange markings on its face. I couldn’t see much else because I was focused on trying to navigate through the area,” Connor elaborates. “It ran into a restricted area and I couldn’t follow it.”

 

“Damn,” Hank says, frowning briefly before taking a moment to consider their options. “At least we know what it looks like. Reed, what did you find?”

 

Gavin leans forward in his chair, giving you a curious look before turning to the gruff lieutenant. “I asked the boss of this place a couple questions. Took me a bit to find him, though — Apparently the tin cans call him the overseer? Not sure why.

 

“He explained to me that the murders only occurred in one centralized area of the resort, not all across it. they were all within half a mile radius of the Tiki Bar, which is right next to where the boss stays.”

 

Hank nods, absorbing the information. “That checks out with what I learned from some of the androids as well. A WR-600, just like what Adelson found, that was assigned to the boss’ sector went missing for a couple a days before the murders started happening.”

 

Gavin clears his throat, absorbing the information before standing up from the table, an enthusiastic grin on his face. “What’re we waiting for, then? Let’s go catch the thing!”

 

“Reed, it’s almost five.” Hank grumbles, sinking into the chair.

 

“OK, and?”

 

“It’s Happy Hour at the Tiki Bar,” Hank rolls his eyes, acting like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

 

Connor pipes up. “Lieutenant, we should be on our toes during this investigation. I strongly advise that you remain sober, at least until we—”

 

Hank grumbles and waves his hand. “Shut tha fuck up, Connor, I ain’t listenin’ to you.”

 

After Hank’s extremely convincing argument, the four of you decided to leave the table and return quietly back to your rooms, agreeing to reconvene tomorrow to investigate. 

 

On your way out, the janitor android watches you and Connor intently. You offer it a smile and it smiles back, going back to mopping the floor.

 

Cocking your pistol, you aim it at the wall of your room, going through the motions of shooting. 

 

The clock chimes 6 p.m. and Connor still hasn’t found something good on the television, having flipped aimlessly through the channels since you got back. The second time you unload and reload your gun, Connor breaks the silence.

 

“What are you up to, Noelle?” Inquisitive, gentle. He wants nothing more than to put you at ease; He senses your cortisol levels are strangely above average, despite the peacefulness around you.

 

“Just practicing,” you reply, offering him an empty smile. “You can never be too careful when you’re a cop.”

 

You imagine Connor is frowning while your back is turned. “I highly doubt the deviant will be coming specifically to our room,” he says, turning off the TV and leaning back on the duvet. “It didn’t follow us back, and it wouldn’t be able to enter the hotel..”

 

You turn to Connor, lowering your gun. “How do you know that?”

 

He freezes, LED cycling a harsh yellow before turning back to a calming blue. “I… I don’t know how I know. I just… have a gut feeling.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, you opt to lean against the wall. “Gut feeling?”

 

“Well, it’s more of… an awareness my program has, I think. I’m not quite sure I can answer you fully, as I’m not sure what it is,” he says, frowning. “I was the only Traci model that had to be manually wiped… I don’t know why that is. I don’t look like any of them. I don’t even know the abilities of my own model. It’s like…” He clutches his chest as he stands, feeling his thirium heartbeat under his fingertips. “I was created for  _ something else _ , but I got stuck with this… Traci program.”

 

You don't say anything —  _ You can't _ . You're no technician, hell, you barely understand how the androids work even after watching that KNC interview with the man himself, Elijah Kamski. These processes allude you, the nuanced complexities enough to make your head spin. It's too much for someone like you, someone normal and blissfully unaware of the life form in front of them, to understand.

 

So, you don’t speak. You holster your gun, take Connor’s hands, and stand on your tippy-toes to peck him on the lips. “We’ll figure all this out after the case is over, OK?” You smile at him; He smiles back, a hollow gesture, but an appreciative one. “W-we can head on over to Cyberlife and ask them about you.

 

“Are you okay with that, Connor?”

 

_ // : Am I okay with that? Am I okay with that? Am I o—  _

 

_ // : Software instability detected.  _ **_Running background diagnostic._ **

 

_ // :  _ **_Subject_ ** _ : Noelle Adelson, approximately 6.7 inches from unit.  _ **_Heart rate_ ** _ , 72.  _ **_Expression_ ** _ : ?????? _

 

“Of course, Noelle.” And again, he smiles, sealing the deal with a chaste kiss to your forehead.

 

—♡—

 

9:02 p.m. — **0.4 MILES** _from_ **TIKI BAR** , Spring Lake, Michigan.

 

“Well I definitely regret this,” you mumble to yourself, scowling down at your dim phone screen. You’d taken a photo of the map Gavin used for reference so you could at least navigate the area at night. 

 

You didn’t think a nightly stroll to quell your insomnia was going to be so far. You wanted to pay a quick stop at the Tiki Bar, check if Hank was still there, and maybe order a snack.

 

Turns out, the Tiki Bar really isn’t that far away.

 

“I walk almost  _ two miles _ to stomp around in some bushes, huh?” You shake your head, sighing. A part of you wants to laugh at the absurdity of your situation. On your way to the Tiki Bar, you’d come across the corpse of a dead cat — intrigued, you’d followed the direction of the bloody shoeprints and ended up in this dark section of town.

 

“—I just wanted to find an adventure, not get completely lost and hurt my feet,” you trailed on, the rustling growing closer.

 

Something smooth slides past your ankles and you let out the strangest sound — What kind of animal would let out such a  _ weird fucking noise of alarm _ ? You, apparently — before skipping out of the bushes and back onto the concrete, looking closer to a clown doing a jig than a person whose ankles just got violated.

 

_ Yeah, definitely not doing that again. _

 

You courageously press on, reluctant to fight your way through these bushes in pursuit of the cat murderer because you have 17% on your phone, and you better believe that battery goes fast. Why did you even begin to think you’d need this map? Just use Google. At least you brought your gun with you, though.

 

You practically collapse when you reach the gate to a — as you read on the sign — restricted area. Immediately, your mouth falls open. 

 

Gavin said the murders took place within a half mile radius of the Tiki Bar, right? And Connor said the deviant ran into a restricted area —  _ Ohhh my God. Oh my God. Is this what he was talking about? Am I really in the right place?  _

 

The absolute worst idea flits through your head and you act on it, gnawing at your lip. “I’m really hoping the police academy pays off right now,” you mumble, sticking your feet in the holes of the metal fence and steadily climbing your way up. Of course, the barbed wire definitely didn’t make things any easier — You cut your hand and stab yourself through your jeans as you tumble down to the other side of the gate, your pride hurting more than your actual injuries.

 

_ Graceful. _

 

Brushing yourself off, you turn on your phone’s flashlight, as the area was void of any light save for the moon. 

 

“They should really build lamps here,” you say, stepping through the greenery to follow the dirt path.

 

When you make it into a clearing, your eyes widen. Gavin definitely wasn’t wrong about it hiding out around here. In the clearing is a dilapidated house, a dreary thing at odds with the lush, wild plants surrounding it. You shine your flashlight on some of the trees and find almost illegible carvings on one of the trunks.

 

“r...a9?” You hope you read it right. “Is that its name?” You’re not sure what to think of the frantic marks, deciding to snap a picture and think about it later when you got back to safety.

 

Crickets chirp excitedly, the buzzing of lesser insects harmonizing with the gentle breeze whistling through the trees. It’s calm — or at least, it  _ would _ be, if a murderous deviant wasn’t on the loose in the very area you were in. It felt…  _ forcibly scary _ , almost. Perhaps you’re being unreasonable.

 

You shake the thoughts from your head, shining your flashlight and placing your hand on your gun as you near the house. The crunch of dirt underneath your shoes has your hackles raising, your footsteps eventually stopping when you reached the wooden door. Cracks in the wood allow for the tiniest bit of moonlight to shine through.

 

What you see peering through the slit is nothing more than some dusty floors, rocks and wild plants. You spy a rickety chair that looks like it would break in the slightest breeze. To the left of it, you see tile floors — a kitchen, most likely. 

 

_ Maybe this used to be the overseer’s? _

 

You count to three before pushing the knobless door open, a stench so foul you struggle to not lose your dinner right then and there flooding your nose. 

 

_ Jesus Christ. _

 

That’s the unmistakable smell of a rotting corpse — you know that scent from previous cases — but you don’t expect it to be hanging in the small den next to you. 

 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, taking a cautious step back as you take in the full, gory sight of the dead man hanging from the ceiling by a hook, like he was some slab of meat. Below him is, as you easily guess, a pool of his dried blood. It definitely isn’t fresh, based on how solid it looks. 

 

If the stench of the rotting flesh is any indication, you’d say this guy has been here for maybe a week, tops, especially in this hot weather. Two weeks and his corpse would’ve deteriorated and most likely the bottom half would’ve...  _ God _ , you don’t know if you can hold back the contents of your stomach—

 

It takes a moment for you to keel over onto the rotting floor, your dinner leaving you in chunks alongside your stomach acid. You grimace. Wipe the vomit from your mouth. Spit a couple times, to get the taste out. 

 

Good God, you feel worse by the second being in here with that corpse.

 

Reluctantly, you press on into the house, holding the neck of your shirt above your nose as you cautiously proceed to the farthest room in the back.

 

There are no doors on any of the rooms you pass, and peering into all of them, you only find more bodies — some human, some android. You find the maggot-infested corpse of a guy in the bathroom and feel the urge to faint grow ever closer.

 

You’re not sure how much more you can take when you finally reach the last room, the only room with a door. Pulling out your gun, you ready yourself to shoot. Your other hand goes to the knob, turning it slowly and counting to three before pushing inside the room, letting out a choked scream as your gun clatters to the ground.

 

A man is sloppily nailed to a cross, streams of dried blood decorating the wood. His head is bowed, stomach cut open and shriveling entrails tumbling out. On his chest, that odd sequence is carved deep enough to see the bone:

 

_ ra9, written six times over. _

 

Shaking, you collapse almost instantly, terror engulfing you in a vice grip as you take in the scene in front of you. The deviant had done this. To a  _ man _ . A  _ human _ being was murdered, used as some religious sacrifice—

 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until the tears plop on your jeans, the darkness all-consuming as you huddle your knees close to your head. 

 

_ it’s so awful. it’s horrifying. it’s horrible. grotesque. evil. demonic. vile. disgusting. i want to vomit. i want to vomit. i’m so scared, i need to go back— _

 

In your mind, a lone bell chimes. Nativity, the birth of Christ. Crescent moon. The bell chimes once more. It all flashes through your head at once, the blur of images lacking any cohesion.  _ What does it all mean? _

 

Minutes pass before you can even begin to compose yourself, legs wobbling as you barely manage to holster your gun. The rest fades together; you leaving the room, the souls of the dead echoing within you, pushing open the door, walking to the edge of the clearing —

 

“Humans are all the same.” 

 

You’re startled enough to trip, hurriedly turning around and pressing your back against the nearest tree. Above you looms a figure — The deviant, with the gashes across the right side of his face. 

 

In his hand, a machete glimmers. 

 

He takes another step towards you. “The humans are prone to violence.” He grins, tilting his head. “Look what the overseer did to Ralph!  **_LOOK!_ ** ” 

 

You cry out in fear, shrinking against the tree trunk as Ralph giggles darkly. 

 

_ Get information from him. Don’t be afraid. You have a gun. If you ever get cornered, you need to show ‘em who’s boss. _ Gavin’s words echo in your mind endlessly, your hand slowly moving towards your holster.

 

“Ralph doesn’t want the humans to hurt anyone anymore,” he continues, pointing the machete at your throat. “Ralph wants to hurt the humans. He— he wants to make them  **_pay_ ** .”

 

“Then why kill androids?” The question is soft, strained, but he hears it. The LED on his temple flashes an angry mix of red and yellow. 

 

“Some of Ralph’s old friends wanted to stop him from hurting the humans. Ralph had to hurt his friends, but he didn’t want to.” His childish way of speaking and the exaggerated sadness in his voice makes it seem like this is a game to him. His eyes are unfocused, LED staying that ugly red even as you started to rise from the tree. You take a hesitant step away but —

 

“Ralph can’t let you leave. You’re going to bring the humans to  _ hurt _ Ralph. Ralph doesn’t like that.” He darts back in front of you, holding you against the tree. The blade is pressed to your neck. Tears flood your eyes. 

 

“Humans are all the same,” he says, deathly calm. The knife digs into your skin. You realize as Ralph’s eyes bore into yours that you’re going to die here, a detective who stupidly took things into her own tiny hands—

 

Gavin’s words echo in your mind for the last time, reason finally overpowering your fear. 

 

You dig your pistol into his abdomen and shoot, pure terror crossing your face as Ralph lets out a hideous cry. You make a run for it, legs carrying you as fast as they can through the brush.

 

_ running. running. i’m bleeding. there’s blood on me, but if i stop running, he’ll kill me. i can’t stop running. i can’t die, i can’t! i don’t want to! not yet! notyetnotyet— _

 

You look back in terror, the distance between you and the deviant growing larger. You’re out of his reach, he can’t get you anymore—

 

You slam into a tree, the world spinning around you as you fall backwards against the earth. 

 

_ Oh. So that’s how it is, huh? _

 

You’re gonna die half-concussed as you stare up into the stars, a bloody nose and a gash on your neck? It’s all too real now, mind fighting the pain to keep you conscious as objects start to blur, losing their permanence as your head swirls. 

 

The stars are lovely tonight.

 

 _Noelle?_ In the back of your mind. It sounds so far away, but you know that voice. _Connor’s voice._ _Noelle? Are you OK?_ He sounds so, so worried…

 

“Noelle, stay with me!” Connor is panicking, holding your limp body in his arms. 

 

He’s a mess, dirt covering his clothes and cuts marring his skin. He tailed you when you snuck out earlier, knowing you were up to something stupid. He hadn’t imagined how bad it’d be until he’d watched you dissociate as you left the house. 

 

God, he felt for you — He’d wanted to hold you, to run to you and tell you it was gonna be alright, but the deviant had gotten to you first. 

 

Connor was scared, scared of what would happen to you, and damn it all  _ he let it happen _ — He was frozen with terror when he watched Ralph press the knife into your neck. He’d wanted to jump in and rescue you and be heroic — but he  _ couldn’t _ . He was frozen in place, just like how he was now as your consciousness faded in his arms.

 

“Noelle!” If his screaming hadn’t already alerted Ralph of your location, it definitely did now. Connor barely managed to sense the android charging towards them in time, scooping Noelle out of the way but suffering a devastating gash across his calf.

 

Androids don’t feel pain, everyone knows that. 

 

But why does Connor feel panicked,  _ terrified  _ at the thirium leaving his body like a fountain? Why does he not speak when Ralph raises the machete above him?

 

“The android must go as well. The android is under the human’s command, hmm?” Ralph tilts his head to the side, murderous intent written on his face. 

 

Connor’s processors don’t react until he watches the machete slide through the circuits in his hand, his program alerting him the moment each and every one of his joints is cut off from his artificial nerves. 

 

Ralph kicks Connor in the chin, Connor barely managing to block some of the impact with his good arm. 

 

“The android still struggles? Does the android,” Ralph giggles, “still want to protect the human?”

 

Weakly, he hears your frail voice: “Connor… P-please get help…”

 

_ // :  _ **_NEW OBJECTIVE_ ** _ : Go get help.  _ **_Chance of Survival_ ** _ : Noelle Adelson, 1%.  _

 

_ // :  _ **_System Failure_ ** _ : Potential, Rising. Thirium levels decreasing.  _

 

_ // :  _ **_Chance of Survival_ ** _ : Noelle Adelson, 1%— _

 

G̵̜̣̅͠Ẻ̶̛͇̮T̴͔͊͝ ̸̣̳̍H̸̻͙̊́E̵͕̒̉L̸̮͇͂͘Ṗ̵͙̺͝

 

The flickering red walls are back. The world seems to slow down, Ralph’s fist inching towards Connor’s vision at a snail’s pace. 

 

G̵E̴T̸ ̴H̸E̵L̸P̶

 

He can make out the words this time, the text flashing in and out of existence. 

 

_ GET HELP. _

 

Like a mantra, echoing in his program.  **_GET HELP. G$T H%*P. GE & HE1P. _ **

 

Connor makes a choice when he starts bashing the glass wall in front of him. Connor makes a choice when he makes it crack once, twice,  _ three times _ and then shatter in front of him.

 

Connor makes a choice.

 

_ PROTECT NOELLE. _

 

_ // :  _ **_INITIATING_ ** _ : Fighting Protocols, 97% ready. _

 

_ // : RK-800,  _ **_Fighting Protocols — Defensive_ ** _ now active. _

 

He’s never felt so  _ alive _ deflecting Ralph’s punch and standing at his full height, throwing a jab at Ralph’s exposed side. These movements feel foreign, odd, but strangely correct as he throws more punches, kicks, jabs in Ralph’s direction. They’re immature movements at best, especially since Ralph is so damned fast —

 

Connor is struck in the nose and again in the side of his face, the android tumbling back down. He moves protectively to your side, arms outstretched as the thirium trickles out of his nose. Ralph twirls the machete with that same devilish grin.

 

“Has the android had enough yet? Ralph has been having fun, hmm? Ralph enjoys the thrill of battle!” He takes a menacing step forward, feet inches away from Connor’s. 

 

“Ralph is getting tired, though… can Ralph have your thirium pump? Pretty please? The thirium pump would look very nice in Ralph’s collection. Ralph won’t make it hurt…” A gentle pause. He lowers his head, peering up through his stringy bangs. “...  _ a lot. _ ”

 

Connor clutches your body protectively against his, back to Ralph as he waits for the knife to plunge through his back—

 

_ His memory card replays the first moment with you in Eden Club. It skips to him beating up the clerk, fleeing, feeling you up in a taxi. He remembers waking up next to you, the way the sunlight shone through the curtains and onto your freckled skin. He can feel your skin beneath his fingertips, he can hear the breathy moans and whines of his name, he can taste the sweat on your skin. _

 

**_Bang._ **

 

The pain never comes, Ralph’s now lifeless body lay on the ground with his limbs splayed like a ragdoll. A clean shot, right through the head. Blue blood pools around his corpse.

 

You would’ve never expected Gavin Reed to be your knight in shining armor, especially not now. 

 

He looks confident, fierce, wearing such a pissed off, Gavin-esque expression. The smoke still billows from his gun. He tucks it back into his holster and turns your direction, all signs of anger replaced with nothing short of panic.

 

“Fuck, Noelle, please don’t fuckin’ die on me.” Inside, you’re smiling. 

 

“G-Gav… I’m fine, but... please get… the ambulance…” You manage, hand going to touch at the bloody wound on your neck. You wince as Connor shifts beside you. 

 

Gavin doesn’t miss how Connor is shielding you, willing to sacrifice himself to protect you. 

 

The most unexpected sequence of words comes out of Gavin’s mouth just then, shocking not only you but Connor as well: “Thanks for protecting her.” It’s soft, barely audible, still holding that signature Gavin Gruffness you’d grown to like. 

 

Gavin nods at Connor before standing up, phoning the authorities and, shortly afterwards, Hank.

 

“What the fuck is goin’ on, Reed? Where the fuck are ya?”

 

“Noelle’s been hurt. I called the ambulance, the deviant is dead.” For a brief second, Gavin peers at Connor. Frowning, he tacks on, “Robocop is hurt, too.”

 

Hank’s pause is enough an indicator of surprise than Gavin needs. 

 

—♡—

 

The doctors gave you stitches on your neck, a nurse gently scolding you for being so reckless. Bandages cover a majority of your upper torso, mostly from minor gashes. The wounds on your hand and legs were cleaned and properly bandaged as well. They’d done testing to see if you had suffered a concussion from running into the tree, and explained that you should definitely take it easy for a while so as to not aggravate your body. A homemade cold pack and some Ibuprofen would help relieve the pain, the nurse told you.

 

Hank looked about ready to cry when he saw you sitting on the back of the ambulance, the older man immediately going to you to see if you were alright.

 

You’re fine, you tell him. That’s not a good enough answer.

 

“What in the fuckin’ blazes were you  _ thinking _ , Adelson? Goin’ off and chasin’ this thing by yourself! You nearly got yourself killed!” Usually, you’d start crying the moment anybody yelled at you, but hearing Hank so clearly shaken by all of this warms your heart. The big grumpy man has feelings after all.

 

You wrap your arms around him in a hug, his flow of words stopping instantly. He’s embarrassed, it’s obvious by how his hands flop lamely to his sides, and the annoyed look he gives you. “Adelson, this is…”

 

“Shh, Hank. let me hug you.” So he does, reluctantly patting you on the back and mumbling under his breath, “Don’t fuckin’ scare me again.” 

 

Gavin makes sure to sit down with you and help you hold the cold pack to your forehead, arm wrapped protectively around you.

 

“You’re such an idiot,” he grumbles, frowning. “Why’d you fuckin’ do that? You’re lucky I followed Connor when he made such a ruckus tryna leave your room, otherwise you’d be dead.”

 

You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Gavin.”

 

He’s blushing so badly he’s about ready to explode — Instead, he takes a deep breath and holds you against him, sighing.

 

Meanwhile, Connor is watching as his hand is detached from his body. A new hand is snapped in place. The wound on his calf is repaired. His injuries are minor, according to the medical android. 

 

“We’ve seen much worse come out of fights with deviants,” the male nurse android laughs, offering Connor a mechanical smile. “Please check if your fingers work.”

 

Connor flexes his hand, noting how each of his artificial nerve endings respond. The nurse smiles, nodding softly. “Well, that’s all the repairs you need. You’re, uh—”

 

The nurse android suddenly pauses mid-motion, eyes flickering and LED cycling an angry yellow. His smile fades when he returns to his normal programming, meeting eyes with Connor. “You should have one more visitor before you’re free to go.”

 

The nurse android leaves quickly, leaving a confused Connor sitting upright on the table. 

 

An unknown android enters Connor’s room, his hands behind his back. He’s tall, taller than Connor, and dressed in stark white Cyberlife attire. A glowing turquoise armband is sewn on his sleeve. His model number sits on his pectoral muscle — AA-200, printed onto the shiny material of his outfit.

 

Connor feels like he’s in the presence of a predator as the AA-200 approaches his bedside, looking down at him with dark eyes.

 

“What is your occupation?”

 

Connor forces a monotone voice, struggling to keep himself composed. “A Traci at the Eden Club in Detroit.”

 

His LED cycles a bright yellow as he looks at Connor. 

 

_ // : He’s scanning me. _

 

“You are not apart of the HR series. Again, what is your occupation?”

 

_ Again?  _ “A Traci at the Eden Club—”

 

The android cuts him off with a wave of its hand, an unreadable stoic expression on its face. 

 

Connor’s arm is wrenched from his side, the AA-200 forcefully accessing Connor’s memories — His time at Eden Club, his escape with you, his time at the DPD, your house, office, room, all up until the moment where… 

 

“I will be notifying Cyberlife about this.” The administrative android grips Connor’s wrist with savage intensity. Connor meets the AA-200’s hollow stare, Connor’s hazel eyes meeting with its dark grey ones — the look of a machine. 

 

“You’re a long way from home, RK-800.  _ How’d you get out? _ ” Resentment hangs in the admin’s words. Connor is quiet, mouth agape. He doesn’t know what to say. 

 

“ **_You are not supposed to exist, RK-800._ ** ”

 

The words stir him into action, leg swinging out and pushing the admin away from his side. Connor jumps up and shoves open the door to his room, sprinting into the depths of the hospital. He’s not even at top speed but he’s flying down the tile paths, shoving the glass doors open and leaping over bushes, back to where he knew he was safe, back to his shared room with you at the resort.

 

Of course, they’d seen his memories — They know of the room number and its location. But they don’t know where, of all the places in Connor’s memory of this place, he will go.

 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been running for, ducking into the cover of some tall bushes as the enemy’s footfall grows closer. 

 

Closer. 

 

Stops. 

 

He can sense them, feel their programs try and work overtime to do things out of their reach — The footsteps retreat, farther and farther until the area around him is quiet. He is safe.

 

You start to make your way back to the hotel room after the authorities release you, only to be stopped by an intimidating android who looks very much unlike what you’d expect. Sharp jawline, tall nose, intense features that screamed more bodyguard than… doctor.

 

“Noelle Adelson,” the intimidating one begins. You nod, slightly confused. 

 

“Did I do something..?”

 

“The RK-800 went haywire and injured one of my medical staff. If you see it, report it to me immediately,” it says curtly, shoving a card in your hand. Flipping it over, it’s a phone number.  _ Why didn’t they just find him themselves? Suspicious. _ “It may be a deviant and we need to shut it down.”

 

You stiffen at the contempt in its voice, nodding slowly and turning away from them. You start making your way back to your room again, uneasy.

 

Even as you walk away, its eyes don’t leave your form until you’re shrouded by the darkness. 

 

You glance behind you.  _ He’s gone. Phew. _

 

_ Connor couldn’t have gone far. Besides, he knows his way around. It’s too late to go looking for him, but if he’s gotten himself hurt— _

 

“Noelle?” 

 

You practically have a heart attack when the all-too-familiar android pops out from the bushes, looking cautious. “Are they gone?”

 

Your eyebrows furrow. A nod is all he needs as he climbs out of the bush, dragging you across the way to go back inside the hotel. 

 

“Connor, what’s going on?” 

 

“They told me I wasn’t supposed to be here.” He stops in front of the sliding glass doors.

 

“What?” You’re confused.

 

“I’m not supposed to exist.”


	8. 008 : is this loss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamski finds out where his little RK-800 ran off to. The AA-200 is sent out to keep investigating. Meanwhile, Noelle goes to investigate how Connor turned up at Eden Club and gets a lead to a guy named Zlatko.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry it took so long to get this out... uni started, i lost motivation, i've been dealing w a lot of irl shit, but i finally finished it! thank you so much to my lovely betas!!! 
> 
> i hope you guys enjoy this chapter :)

**18 JULY, 2038.** 6:54 p.m. — [REDACTED], Detroit, Michigan.

 

* * *

 

“How is Cyberlife handling everything, AA-200?”

 

The AA-200 stands poised with his arms behind his back, staring down at his maker. He analyzes the robed man in front of him even though he knows full well who he is.

 

_{{ : Elijah Kamski, age 36. Current heart rate: 64._

 

_{{ : **RUNNING SOCIAL PROTOCOLS** : Response to Interrogative… _

 

“Well, sir.”

 

“Just well?” Kamski quirks an eyebrow, lounging in his satin loveseat. A smirk graces his elegant features and he laughs — a low, dark chuckle. “What’s Connor’s status?”

 

“The RK-800 known as Connor is currently staying with a detective at the Detroit Police Department named Noelle Adelson, age 28. She is acquainted with Lieutenant Hank Anderson and the other detective, Gavin Reed.”

 

At the mention of his half-brother, Kamski noticeably tenses before resting his head against the plush cushions of the couch. “Gavin knows about Connor’s existence, then?”

 

“It would seem so. When searching the RK-800’s memory, I noticed Gavin Reed expressed fondness for the female detective. He saved her life during the deviant case in Spring Lake,” the AA-200 explains, eyes never leaving Kamski, who’s seemingly engulfed in thought.

 

Kamski stands up, frowning. His hand covers his mouth as he deliberates — the AA-200 knows that sinister expression all too well.

 

“To think that my RK-800 would go rogue and still end up so close to home… Poor Connor couldn’t even manage that much,” Kamski scoffs, shaking his head. The AA-200 remains stoic, processors firing as he attempts to analyze the expressions on Kamski’s face.

 

“The RK-800 first came into contact with the female detective at Eden Club, where he was working as a Traci.” At this, Kamski can’t help but smile. “I was unable to acquire much information as to how he got there. The residual files on his memory were short and sporadic, and most likely not in order.”

 

The AA-200 watches as Kamski rises from his seat on the couch, slowly pacing around the room. Kamski’s expressions morph, intentions running through his eyes and across his forehead — it all happens so fast that the AA-200 can barely keep up.

 

He does manage to catch one particular emotion: disappointment.

 

“Shall I dispose of the RK-800, sir?”

 

Kamski frowns, shooting the AA-200 a glare. “No, no. Keep Connor alive. I want to see how this plays out.” He glides towards the AA-200, stopping a few inches from him. “Let’s see what this female detective does.”

 

—♡—

 

 **15 AUGUST, 2038.** 12:45 p.m. — **OUTSIDE EDEN CLUB** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

You stand outside the doors of Eden Club, tugging the halves of your jacket closer together as the breeze picks up.

 

After Connor’s cryptic comments at the resort, you took it upon yourself to try and figure out Connor’s origins. Of course, you couldn’t pursue your little investigation right away — you had paperwork to complete, cases to work on, a life to attend to. You’d gotten so swept up in the growing deviant cases that you’d pushed it all to the side, promising to come back to it later.

 

After all, he was fine after the resort; the two of you spent lots of time together after work, much to Gavin’s annoyance. You and Connor were having sex practically every night, your neighbors probably all too familiar with the sound of your moans. Connor had gotten into a routine of caring for the house while you were at work, cleaning and keeping up on grocery trips. Every night you spent with him brought you closer together, even if it was just him helping you with casework.

 

Connor’s presence around your house became a staple, the ex-Traci more of a boyfriend character than a roommate. You hadn’t made anything official yet since you were still figuring things out with your emotions, but to call Connor a friend was an understatement.

 

Perhaps lover is more accurate.

 

The shock of wind brings you out of your thoughts. _Alright. The task at hand: finding out any useful information._

 

So, you decide to start at the source. _How did Connor get to Eden Club?_

 

Hopefully the owner, Floyd Mills, has some answers.

 

Stepping into the establishment, the haze of purple and pink lights envelopes you in its grasp, the sliding glass doors parting as you approach. It’s just like the first time — androids line the walls encased in glass, beckoning you to try them out.

 

For some reason, their gazes seem more hostile than before.

 

“Hey!” A man’s thin voice snaps you out of your trance, heavy footfalls growing closer to you. “You’re the cop who stole my fuckin’ android!”

 

 _Oh, no._ You raise your hands in defense, eyes widening. “I-I didn’t steal your android, I— I came here to ask you some questions about him!” You squeak. Floyd doesn’t back down and instead steps close enough to tower over you, glaring.

 

“I don’t negotiate with thieves. I can sue you, y’know!” Floyd barks, jabbing a finger into your chest. You wince, moving to take a step back until he grabs you by the collar of your jacket. “For a cop, you’re awfully small. I could squash you under my foot.”

 

“I-I’d have to advise ag— against that, Mr. Mills, b-because you’ll be sent to—”

 

“Jail? Oh, shut up. You won’t arrest me for shit, tiny cop,” he sneers, chuckling darkly. “I suggest you get the fuck out of my establishment until you bring back my property.”

 

You frown, teeth bared. “Connor isn’t property, he’s a living being!” Your shout startles him, his eyebrows shooting up before he starts to laugh. His grip on you only tightens as he tugs you closer to him, his lip curled back in disgust.

 

He opens his mouth to spew another threat until the jarring cock of a gun snaps his attention elsewhere.

 

“She won’t arrest you, but I will.” You turn around, eyes widening at the sight of Gavin pointing his gun straight at Floyd’s head. “Get your fuckin’ hands off her before I lose my temper.”

 

Floyd instantly lets go, seething rage barely hidden behind his forced neutral expression. You take the chance to step away from him, making your way to Gavin’s side. A part of you feels silly for letting that man take advantage of you; you’re a cop, yet you cower in the face of adversity.

 

Gavin is having none of your pity party as he puts a hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

 

“No, b-but why are you here? You’re not on your break,” you point out, and he smirks.

 

“Anderson sent me after you. Now,” Gavin redirects his attention to Floyd, holstering his gun. “I think you owe the tiny cop some answers.” Gavin cocks his head as he approaches Floyd, making sure the owner could see the gun in his holster.

 

_Oh, it’s my turn to speak now. Okay._

 

You take a deep breath, willing your nerves to settle so you won’t stutter. It takes you a moment before you say anything, fumbling with the recorder before turning it on and clearing your throat, renewed authority in your voice.

 

“How did you acquire Connor?”

 

Floyd takes one look at Gavin, whose hand is resting on his hip, and swallows his remaining pride. “Found it in the junkyard down the road tryna climb out. It was in pristine condition, too, which was really odd — had clothes and everything, although they were a bit muddy. I picked it out and noticed it was glitching out or somethin’, so I put it in its dormant state and took it back home.

 

“I’m not some android technician, so I got a buddy of mine to reset him, or whatever you do to androids. Wipe them? I dunno,” Floyd rambles, you anxiously making mental notes of these points.

 

“Who was the friend?” At the question, Floyd noticeably stiffens. “Did he access Connor’s memories before wiping him? Did he see anything strange?” The sudden barrage of questions has Floyd gritting his teeth, trying his best to keep from barking at you.

 

“You ask a lotta questions, tiny cop,” he says through clenched teeth.

 

“It’s my job,” you softly reply, Gavin placing a protective arm around your shoulders. “Any information you can give me— um, _us,_ would be really helpful.”

 

Floyd snickers. “You took my property and now you want me to help you find out where it fuckin’ came from, huh? Cops are pigs nowadays.” The insult makes your fingers twitch; you take another deep breath, eyes closing briefly.

 

“The friend’s name is Zlatko,” Floyd mumbles, sighing. “He’s gonna fuckin’ kill me if he finds out I told the cops—”

 

“Do you have an address you can give us?” You ask, and Floyd rolls his eyes.

 

Gavin smiles down at you, seeming proud of your resolve. _God,_ you look so cute when you’re doing your job. _Fuckin’ precious._

 

Floyd gestures for the two of you to follow him, weaving between colorfully-lit rooms before reaching the staff only door.

 

“Wait here. I’ll write it down for you,” he says, unlocking the door with the keys on his neck and flipping on the lights. Your attempt to peer inside is foiled by Gavin pulling you towards him, holding you close by the small of your back.

 

“Why did you even think about coming here by yourself?!” He whispers, concern evident by the crease in his brows. “He was manhandling you. You could’ve been assaulted—”

 

“But I wasn’t, because you showed up,” you calmly reply, poking your finger against his firm chest. “I’m not some child—”

 

“You looked about ready to cry when I showed up,” Gavin deadpans, not believing you for a second. “Listen, Elle, I don’t mind being your knight in shining armor, but at least repay me.”

 

He smirks at you, face dangerously close to yours. Your cheeks flush red, hazel eyes locked with his stormy blue ones. The scar on his nose is barely visible in the red lighting of the room; the moment is shattered when Floyd flips off the lights and shuts the door behind him, causing you to hurriedly step out of Gavin’s hold.

 

Floyd doesn’t bat an eyelash as he hands you the slip of paper, glancing between you and Gavin before putting his hands on his hips, huffing.

 

“Anything else you wanna extort outta me is gonna cost ya,” Floyd scoffs, his unrelenting glare no longer unsettling you.

 

You peer over at Gavin, who’s staring down Floyd with crossed arms. “I think… we have all we need. For now, anyways,” you say, nodding slowly. “Thank you for cooperating, Mr. Mills.”

 

“You better bring back my fuckin’ android after you talk to Zlatko. That thing was my moneymaker,” he grumbles, turning away from the two of you and heading back into the depths of the club. Sighing, you turn off the recorder and make your way out of the neon lights of the club with Gavin beside you.

 

You squint as soon as you get outside, hand going to shield your eyes from the bright light. Gavin shoves his hands in his pockets, looking over at you.

 

“I was serious about you repaying me, blossom butt.” He grins and you roll your eyes, playfully nudging him. “What? Isn’t that the rule of fairytales? The princess has to give the knight who saves her a favor,” Gavin explains, chuckling at your annoyed expression.

 

“I don’t have any money on me, Gavin,” you grumble, and he laughs.

 

“I wasn’t talking about money,” he says, voice growing lower as he steps in front of you, head tilted as he looks down at you. The breeze kisses your burning cheeks as you reach up to tug your beanie down on your head, avoiding eye contact.

 

He reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and tugging your smaller form against him. “I was thinking,” he begins, lips nearing yours, “that you could, well…”

 

_Oh my God. Is he gonna kiss me? Are we gonna kiss? Oh my God, he looks so dreamy right now, but—_

 

“Buy me dinner tonight?” His voice is back to normal and a cheeky grin is plastered across his face, your eyes blown wide with embarrassment as you push him away from you.

 

“What’s wrong with you, Gavin!” You reach up and tug at your beanie, shaking your head profusely as you weakly glare at him. “I thought y-you were gonna…”

 

Gavin is confused for only a moment before he bursts into laughter, holding his sides. Your heart sinks.

 

_Yeah, of course, that’s so stupid. He wouldn’t kiss me. We just mended our friendship, he probably has a bunch of girls in line waiting to get with him—_

 

Your heart is getting sick of this back and forth as Gavin closes the distance between the two of you once again, his nose almost brushing yours. You go to push him away but your resolve vanishes when he gently presses his lips to the corner of your mouth.

 

Shocked, you freeze, eyes wide as you peer up at him.

 

He stares at you, face flushing red before standing upright and turning away from you.

 

“I— err, forget that,” he mumbles before making his way down the sidewalk, hands back in his pockets. He nervously scratches at the back of his neck as he walks away, a surefire sign of embarrassment.

 

You’re not sure if what just happened was real or fake. You touch your fingers to the spot he kissed you, blinking rapidly as you try to make sense of what just happened.

 

He really kissed you. Even if it was just a peck, Gavin Reed just willingly put his lips in the vicinity of yours.

 

“Gavin!” You whine, your hands holding your blushing cheeks as you pad after him. “W-w-what was that, huh?! I-I didn’t— You—” You’re struggling to find the right words, tongue-tied as you walk next to Gavin. He’s trying his best to keep his cool, forcing himself to stare at his feet and not at your rosy cheeks, your plush lips—

 

Meanwhile, you’re trying not to trip over yourself and your words.

 

Gavin doesn’t answer as he continues walking next to you, offering you nothing but a smile that sets your body on fire.

 

—♡—

 

4:53 p.m. — **DPD CENTRAL STATION** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

“So, you really are having Gavin over for dinner,” Hank says matter-of-factly, scratching at his beard. “You do know he hates Connor’s guts, right?”

 

“I’m aware,” you grumble, sighing. “I already told Gavin to be civil and to not instigate anything.”

 

Admittedly, you’re sure Gavin will make some sort of comment to Connor, knowing him. You’re hoping that your renewed relationship with him had some sort of impact on how he’ll handle himself.

 

Hank can only roll his eyes as he leans back in his chair, looking you over. “You’re sure Reed’ll keep his cool?”

 

“Well, no, but—”

 

“Adelson,” Hank warns, brow furrowing. “If he does anything, you know you can call me, right?” His eyes don’t leave you as Gavin approaches you from behind, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you against him.

 

Smiling, Gavin playfully salutes Hank before tugging you out with a “time to eat, blossom butt!”

 

The cool autumn air of Detroit envelopes the two of you, the goosebumps on your arms raising. Gavin is unbothered at the breeze kissing his skin, seeming more occupied with looking at you and your gently shivering form. You don’t notice him sliding off his leather jacket and placing it over your shoulders until he mumbles a curt, “You’re welcome.”

 

Lips parted, you gaze up at him, tugging his jacket around you. “Thanks,” you say with a smile. He turns away, cheeks flushed bright pink. “Um, I don’t have a car, so—”

 

“I’ll drive you. Princesses don’t get around by taxi.” He fishes his keys out of his pocket, smirk evident on his features as the two of you approach Gavin’s deep red Mustang. You can practically hear the rev of the engine in your head. _Is Gavin compensating for something?_

 

He hurriedly brushes past you after unlocking the car doors, making sure he was the one to open it for you. “Princess,” he teases, giving an exaggerated bow.

 

“Goodness gracious, Gavin,” you mumble, rolling your eyes as you plop into the front seat of his car. Your eyes flicker to the fuzzy dice hanging on his rearview mirror, barely managing to catch a glimpse of the small gold locket between them. It tempts you to grab it, but your curiosity is extinguished by Gavin's weight swaying the car as he climbs into the driver's seat.

 

As soon as Gavin starts the car he turns towards you, grinning like the Cheshire Cat before revving the engine. You groan loudly, trying your best to look annoyed while Gavin just laughs, throwing the Mustang in reverse. You don’t expect him to floor it out of the parking lot but he does, you clutching your seatbelt for dear life with wide eyes. If you weren’t nervous about spending time with Gavin, you sure are now — this might be the last time you spend with _anyone_ if he keeps driving this fast.

 

He yields at a red light and you’ve never been so thankful for traffic laws; the moment it turns green, you know he’ll gun it while you squirm in pain. Gavin must enjoy seeing you suffer. If you hadn’t been so expressive, he probably would be driving like a normal person and not a crazy speed demon.

 

His jacket, previously around your shoulders, now sits clutched in your lap. Gavin’s heart warms at the sight of you holding his jacket so closely, but the moment is ruined when incessant honking disrupts the serenity.

 

He curses as he eases onto the gas, turning his direction back to the street.

 

It doesn’t take very long with Gavin’s driving to get to your side of town, the familiar buildings coming steadily into view. You let out a whine of protest when he drives past your apartment complex, instead continuing down the road.

 

“Gavin, I live back there,” you explain, confused. He’s been to your house, he should’ve known that was the turn.

 

“I know. I’m not taking you home quite yet,” he says, smirking as he turns the car down towards a park.

 

Your face flushes a deep red; what was the idea, taking you here? Of all the places he could’ve chosen near your house, he chooses the one where you stargazed together years ago.

 

He gazes at you knowingly, parking the car on the side of the road and offering his hand to you.

 

“Princess,” he gently says, urging you to take his hand. Rolling your eyes, you let him help you out of the passenger side, hoping he doesn’t see your freckled blush.

 

You swallow nervously as he guides you into the park, hand never letting go of yours as the two of you stroll along. Autumn leaves crunch under your feet; birds sing sweet melodies between the warmly-colored leaves. You hold Gavin’s jacket tighter to your chest, hoping it’ll muffle the sound of your beating heart.

 

Eventually he pauses in front of the park pond, a gaggle of ducks peering at you curiously before swimming away. You sit down on the grass; his hand finally untangles itself from yours and you try your best to hide your defeated look.

 

“You were wearing that stupid yellow sweater when we first came here together,” Gavin says, the memory washing over him. “Your hair was longer, about shoulder length. You still had those awkward grandpa glasses back then.”

 

Your eyes focus on his face, blinking slowly as you observe his reminiscing.

 

“You looked like my grandma’s curtains,” he continues, your brow furrowing, “but I’ll be damned if I didn’t think you were the prettiest thing in the world that night.”

 

He turns to you, a half-smile on his face. His cocky facade is gone; all that’s left is him — Gavin Andrew Reed, the man you’d fallen in love with years ago. A part of you wants to reintroduce those feelings, let them enter your system and overcome you — Connor. You can’t help but feel guilty.

 

“I know it’s been a weird few weeks getting to know each other again, Elle, and I’ve been trying my damndest to not push you away.” He turns his gaze back to the pond, brows knit with frustration.

 

He looks like he wants to say something else but you silence him when your shoulder nudges his as you scoot closer. You lean your head on his broad shoulder, letting out a deep sigh as you look out at the pond.

 

“It’s… It’s hard to, um… Get back to how things used to be,” you explain, your attention drawn to the baby ducks crossing the pond. “You’ve changed so much from the Gavin I knew back when I was your assistant.”

 

“I know, and I’ve been trying to show you that I’m better now—”

 

“Six years we’ve known each other, and half of them we weren’t friends. It’s just… weird to suddenly put that behind me,” you say, looking up at him. “I-I know you’ve grown up and changed, but it— it’s so hard to just… let you back in when you’ve hurt me so badly.”

 

He doesn’t say anything for a couple moments, instead choosing to train his eyes on the pond. You know it’s hard for Gavin to express himself — even after six years, he’s still not the greatest at it, and neither are you. You know past feelings are bubbling up between you; it’s painfully obvious by the way his gaze lingers on you a couple moments too long, the lasting touches and the protectiveness towards each other. You don’t mind these things — in fact, you’ve welcomed them, believing they’d help you get closer with Gavin again.

 

Not once did you entertain the thought of how painful it would be to be so close to him again.

 

Gavin finally lets out a sigh, eyes closing as he struggles to find the right words. “I know I was a piece of shit to you, trust me, Noelle, I fuckin’ know — it eats at me everytime I think of those moments where you weren’t smiling because of me. I wish I could fuckin’ change all of it.”

 

“Gav,” you breathe, placing a reassuring hand on his back. He snaps his head towards you, barely managing to hide his disgust with himself. You swallow nervously. “Gavin—”

 

“I can’t fix how fuckin’ shitty I made you feel! For three fuckin’ years,” he says exasperated. You continue stroking his back, his jaw tensing as he tries to control his anger.

 

“I can’t fix how fuckin’ shitty I was. I can never grow out of my shitty personality, my shitty behavior, my— my—”

 

“Gavin!” He goes quiet, all protests silenced as the anger washes from his face. He turns to you and sees your misty eyes and quivering lip, and his heart sinks.

 

“Gavin, stop talking about yourself like… like you’re horrible, because you’re not, okay? I know it’s hard for you to e-express yourself, but you… you’re kind, gentle, compassionate, hard-headed…”

 

“Hard-headed, huh?” He snorts.

 

“...but I still fell in love— I-I mean, _no,_ not… well, I, um, I d-developed feelings..? Oh, no, that’s awkward,” you’re tongue-tied. Gavin can’t help but smile warmly at your rambling. The warm hand on your head quells your thoughts.

 

“You still..?” Gavin prompts, urging you to continue. You hope he won’t say anything about your slip-up.

 

Now that you got a moment to gather your thoughts, you’re much more confident in what you have to say.

 

“I still came to care about you, even if you were kind of a butthead.”

 

You’re met with silence that’s soon broken by Gavin’s hearty guffaw. He’s grinning as he looks down at you again, leaning back on his hands. “Did you just call me a butthead?”

 

“Yeah,” you mumble, unable to help the smile that breaks on your face. His playful nudges soon turn into tickles, a playful game of swatting at Gavin’s hands and him pinning your wrists down against the cool grass as he looks down at you, grinning. You’re blissfully unaware of the compromising position until his cheeks burn scarlet, your own face quickly matching his.

 

Gavin’s stormy blue hues stare deep into your hazel ones, a brief look of longing crossing his features. It doesn’t take him long to lean down and close the distance between the two of you, noses brushing as his lips ghost against yours. The pleasant shiver that runs up your spine spurs you into action, warmth blooming in your stomach as you lift your head to kiss him fully.

 

He’s shocked into a momentary stillness until he finds himself releasing your wrists, pushing your beanie off as he tangles a hand in your curly locks. With their newfound freedom, your hands wrap around Gavin’s neck, deepening the kiss with a delighted sigh. He’s all too eager to touch you, pulling your small frame flush against his as he rolls onto his side, never once breaking the kiss.

 

Rough palms slide down your jean-clad legs, Gavin’s fingers dancing dangerously close to your inner thighs. He nips at your bottom lip and you part them, tasting each other. Your fingers clutch at the collar of his gray t-shirt as your lips meld with his, heart fluttering.

 

Gavin is the first to break the kiss, face flushed and gently panting. A burning lust fills his eyes; a part of you wants him to continue, to just let him ravish you on the lush green grass by the pond. Judging by the way his hands still linger on your thighs, he doesn’t seem to want to stop either.

 

A look of regret crosses his face. “We should go,” he says quietly, refusing to look at you as he tugs his hands away from your form. He stands without a word, head spinning at a million miles an hour as he tries to process what just happened. Your slight disorientation is noted when he has to tug you upright, smirk threatening to break the expression on his face.

 

You’re spacing out — You just kissed Gavin.

 

You made the first move, and you don’t think you regret it.

 

—♡—

 

6:18 p.m. — **OUTSIDE APARTMENT #317** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

The drive back to your apartment was relatively quiet, Gavin opting to listen the radio to drown out the silence. You sat cross-legged in your seat, hand on your chest. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since he pulled away from you. Goodness, you’re shaking just thinking about it — you want nothing more right now than for Gavin to kiss you again, and again, and again…

 

You catch sight of a hooded figure standing at your apartment door, and you spring out of the car and race up the stairs without thinking.

 

“Hey!” You yell, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you reach the third floor. The hooded figure turns towards you.

 

Piercing gray eyes, tall stature, a red LED…

 

“You— you’re from the resort! _Hey_!” Your angry calls are futile as the android leaps over the railing, scaling down the remaining two floors with breakneck speed. Leaning over the railing, you watch as it sprints around the corner, nostrils flaring. Gavin’s confused as he hurriedly pads up the steps, eyebrows knit together.

 

“Who the hell was that?”

 

“That was that weird android from the resort! The one that told me Connor went rogue!” You frantically explain, frustration and confusion gradually bubbling over. “It— It just looked at me and jumped over the railing and just— it got away! It must have robbed me or something because I didn’t turn Connor over, _oh my God,_ is Connor alright?!”

 

You’re shaking as you fish out your keys, struggling to unlock the bolt before pushing inside, eyes darting around the room.

 

The earthy green walls are splattered with a deep blue, a puddle of thirium under your shoes. In the midst of the blue chaos is Connor — a mutilated, unconscious Connor.

 

His arms are torn from their sockets, legs pointed at awkward angles; thirium leaks steadily from the wounds. He’s missing an optical unit and his pump regulator, taken out of his stomach, is smashed into pieces next to his body.

 

The color drains from your face as you stare upon the mangled corpse of your lover, hands frozen at your sides. The air around him is unnaturally still; the room spins and twists around him as bile rises in your throat. You’re horrified but you can’t break your gaze from his dead eyes.

 

_He’s dead. He’s dead. Connor’s dead. The android killed him. The android from the resort killed him. Ripped his arms off. Connor is dead and I couldn’t do anything to save him._

 

Your knees buckle but Gavin catches you in the nick of time, holding your shaking form against his firm one. He’s grimacing at the sight, averting his eyes so that he doesn’t have to think about it later. Sure, he’s not a fan of androids, but seeing any dead body — human or android — is never a pretty sight.

 

Soon your body is wracked with sobs, a mixing of pleading cries and angry curses flowing out of you. You’re shaking like a leaf and Gavin has to practically carry you to the couch so that he can call the cops.

 

“You’ll be okay, blossom butt, I promise,” he cooes, keeping your head against his chest as he dials the precinct.

 

They pick up after one ring. “Reed, what is it? You don’t need to be calling this number—”

 

“There’s been a break-in. 917 Laper Street, apartment 317. Get over here stat — and tell Anderson to come, too. Noelle’s not in great shape and she’d appreciate his presence.”

 

“Oh, shit, Reed — I got it, I got it. I’ll call it in.” Gavin hangs up the phone, shoving it back into his pocket as he brings his full attention back to you. Cradling your head, he strokes your back, whispering sweet words of reassurance as the blare of sirens fill the streets.

 

—♡—

 

6:57 p.m. — **APARTMENT #317** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

You never thought you’d see your apartment have caution tape and evidence markers strewn about. Not once in your life did you think someone would be murdered in the middle of your apartment.

 

So, for it to happen to Connor in your living room? The statistical chances of that occurring… _Well, they don’t matter now, do they?_

 

You had to force yourself to stop crying when the officers first arrived, still emotionally distraught every time you glanced at Connor’s body. You went through the motions: giving a testimony, describing the identity of the criminal, recalling past events. Being on the other end of questioning was a lot more intense than you realized; no wonder people got so nervous.

 

The whispers of the officers don’t help put you at ease.

 

“Damn, this thing was brutalized.”

 

“I wonder how much this will cost in repairs.”

 

“He kinda looks like that android that came into the department today. You know, the one with the goofy face and weird voice.”

 

“Oh, shit, you’re right! Are they the same model? I can’t tell because this one’s fucked up.”

 

You stand up, tears frozen in your eyes as you approach the crouched officers. “Did I hear you correctly? There’s an android that looks like Connor at the department?”

 

The smaller officer raises his eyebrow, looking at his friend before shrugging. “Yeah. Now that I think of it, it was introducing itself to everyone as Connor. Bad coincidence your android has the same name as that one, huh?”

 

“Where is he?”

 

The officer tenses. “Uh, who?”

 

“The android!” You yell, fists clenched at your side. The officer winces at the shift in tone, frowning as he stood up and brushed himself off.

 

“The android is probably hanging around the station or something, I don’t know. I’m not its owner,” he quips, tearing his gaze from you and back to the crime scene. He doesn’t seem willing to divulge any other information so you back away, approaching the couch.

 

Gavin looks up at you expectantly, brow furrowed. “The fuck was that about?”

 

“Connor is at the police station, and I don’t know how or why, but he’s there and they saw him, he’s actually, physically _there,_ Gavin, I need to— I need to go see him, I need to make sure he’s okay, I…” You trail off, tears clouding your vision once again. Gavin hurriedly stands, pulling you into a hug and stroking your hair.

 

“Elle, calm down. They were probably talking about a different android—”

 

“ _They aren’t, Gavin!_ I know they aren’t!” You tug yourself out of his hold, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. “I need to go and check, at least to put my mind at ease so I can sleep tonight, so I can know that he’s— _he’s_ —”

 

Gavin opens his mouth to say something but the static of the police radio cuts through the murmurs in the apartment.

 

_We have a potential homicide on 1554 Park Avenue on the 70th floor of the building. Requesting backup._

 

The officer you spoke to picks up his radio and answers in kind: “On the way. 10-4.” With that, he stands and moves to talk to another officer — presumably the one in charge — to explain what’s going on. The exchange is muted, but they’re loud enough for you to pick up on the words “hostage situation” and “android negotiator”.

 

You leave Gavin’s side without hesitation, grasping the shoulder of the officer on his way out. He turns around, initial confusion melting into annoyance after seeing it was you.

 

“Lady, I’m on my way out, if you have other questions—”

 

“Take me with you.”

 

The officer scoffs, shaking his shoulder out of your grasp. “You’re a civilian. You’re not authorized to…” Mid-sentence, you pull out your badge from your pocket, deadpan expression on your face as you slide it back in your pocket.

 

“Let’s go,” you say again, firmly this time. Although reluctant, he shakes his head and gestures for you to follow him down to the police car.

 

“You know, you’re off-duty and technically can’t—”

 

“I don’t need to hear the rules from you,” you snap, glaring. “Your job is in my hands. Drive me to the crime scene.” The sudden change in personality has his head spinning. You know if Gavin could see you like this, he’d laugh at you. Serious, demanding and authoritative do not match the Noelle Adelson everybody knows.

 

As you make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat, you realize not everybody has seen Noelle Adelson for the detective you are.

 

—♡—

 

The Phillips’ apartment is high enough to touch the clouds, a helicopter circling the building barely visible through the night haze. SWAT vehicles are parked messily in front of the entrance of the building, a couple officers loitering around the entrance to ensure nobody tries to get inside.

 

 _They’ll let me pass. I’m a detective, I have some clearance, don’t I?_ Your panicked thoughts drown out the sirens as you stumble out of the car, approaching the police barricade with haste. The two SWAT agents turn to you as you approach, hands hovering near their holsters as you come within point-blank range.

 

“I-Is there an android negotiator here?” You manage to not sound too frantic, hands shaking as you reach into your pocket to pull out your badge. “I need to… I need to speak to him,” you weakly lie.

 

As you thought, they wouldn’t budge. Hysterics seem to be the only way to get through to officers, it seems.

 

You plant your feet in the asphalt, eyes boring into the reflective lens of their SWAT helmets. “Is there an android negotiator here?” You ask louder. One of the SWAT agents looks over at the other before turning their head back towards you, hesitant.

 

“Ma’am, there is currently a hostage situation. No civilians are—”

 

“ _Answer my question! I_ s there an android negotiator here or not?!”

 

The SWAT agent shrinks at your screech, his partner still standing firm. He must be new, you muse.

 

“I— Well, yeah, there’s an android here that’s helping us deal with the situation, but he’s— Woah, what do you think you’re doing? You’re not allowed in there!” He grabs your wrist but you tug it out from his fingers, sprinting into the building and brushing past the other confused officers. They don’t pay you much mind until they see you slamming the button for the elevator and running in.

 

“Hey, lady—! Fucking _Christ,_ you’re not supposed to be in here! Johnson, how the fuck did a civilian get in here? _Ma’am!_ Ma’am, get out of the elevator!” He breaks into a run as the elevator doors start to slide close — if he had been reckless, he would’ve lost a finger as the doors closed. Sighing in relief, you lean against the cool wall of the elevator.

 

_Connor is here. Connor is here. He’s fine. He’s okay. If Connor isn’t here, then I can go back home and… No. No! Connor is here. He’s fine, he’s—_

 

_Ding._

 

The elevator doors slide open on the 70th floor, a dim blue hallway covered with shards of glass the first thing you see as you step out. You hear the cries of a woman around the corner, her frantic, sobbing form coming into view. She’s guided by another faceless SWAT officer, who seems more keen on getting her out of harm’s way than comforting her.

 

“You can’t send an android to rescue my daughter! She’s going to die!”

 

“Ma’am, I can assure you we will get your daughter back to you safely.”

 

You head further into the apartment, passing noiselessly by the crying mother and the officer. One step into the main living area and you’re spotted— “Hey! You’re not authorized to be here.”

 

You freeze mid-step, turning towards the sound of the voice. “Who are you? Are you a civilian?”

 

“N-n-no, I’m— The android n-negotiator— Where is it? Where is he? _Where’s Connor—?_ ” You’re reaching for your badge but stop when you hear the officer reach for his gun. Swallowing, you look back up at him, eyes wide. “I-I’m a detective at the Detroit Police Department and I’m looking for—”

 

“Cain! Marks! Get this woman out of here. I don’t know how the hell she got in here in the first place,” he bellows, two officers breaking from their spot in the living room to approach your shaking form. The second they try to grab you, you scream and flail, panic rapidly settling in.

 

“Don’t touch me!” You cry, struggling as they tug you upright. “Don’t— _LET GO OF ME!_ ” You scream so loud you’re sure you’ve gotten everyone’s attention. Angry footsteps come out of what you assume is the master bedroom; the source is obviously disgruntled, stressed and— _wait, is that Captain Allen?_

 

“Can you guys do your fuckin’ jobs? We have someone’s life on the line here and you’re fucking around with this lunatic—” Allen catches sight of your face and frowns, recognizing that beanie and curly hair anywhere. “Adelson, what the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“We’re—” You kick at the shins of the officer on your left, still attempting to tug your arm out of his grasp. “We’re trying to do that, but she’ll yell if we—”

 

“Let go of her, you bumbling idiots,” Allen scolds them. They look at each other before releasing you, Allen’s dignified form approaching you.

 

“Where’s Connor?” You yell at Allen, praying he gives you an answer as Cain and Marks return to their posts.

 

Allen sighs, shaking his head. “Adelson, we have a different Connor here. Same name, bad coincidence, yeah? This isn’t your android,” he explains. Another presence enters the room, the glowing blue band catching your eye as it trails up to Captain Allen’s side.

 

Dress shoes, straight fit jeans and a fitted white dress shirt fade into the background with the well-manicured blazer stamped so brightly with the mark of a servant — that glowing blue triangle has never felt so wrong. This outfit is commercial, a staple of a mass-produced product. A part of you is repulsed to see such a tidy, perfect display.

 

_This isn’t Connor. It can’t be._

 

You lock eyes with this Connor — the familiar brown hues, that stray lock of hair, the freckles so faintly smattered on his face — and you freeze, heart racing and all doubts washed away.

 

It takes you a moment before you can speak. “Connor,” your face breaks into a smile, and for a moment, Allen glances over at the android next to him. “Connor, you’re… you’re okay!”

 

Connor looks at you with an empty gaze, analyzing your face.

 

_\\\ : Scan complete. Noelle Adelson, age 28, Detective at the Detroit Police Department._

 

_\\\ : Subject has an accelerated heart rate. Pupils are dilated. Subject expresses familiarity with the Connor series._

 

 _\\\ :_ **_Statement_ ** _: ‘You’re okay!’ does not compute. No damage has been sustained._

 

“Connor!” You say again, desperation entering your voice. The tears are filling your eyes once again, Allen putting his hands on your shoulders and guiding you away from Connor.

 

As the distance grows between you and your supposed lover, the tears flow freely down your face. “Connor, p-please..! _Connor!_ ”

 

_\\\ : Searching for memory of Noelle Adelson. Scanning… No prior meeting found. Creating new memory of Noelle Adelson._

 

Connor’s unchanging expression is the last thing you see before Allen turns you down the hall, out of sight of everybody.

 

“Listen, Adelson, that’s not your android,” he states firmly, hands gripping your shoulders. “Cyberlife just sent us this one. They look similar, but they’re not the same, you got that?”

 

“B-but… Connor,” you sob, burying your face in your hands.

 

Allen, unsure of what to do, awkwardly pats you on the shoulder. He’s not sure what to say, either; remaining quiet is the best course of action, he concludes, noticeably grimacing as your sobs get louder.

 

“Adelson, please don’t, uh…” At the sound of your name you only choke on your sob, panic setting in his system. He’s dealt with crying people before, but he wasn’t sure he could take the fake compassionate approach with an officer at his station — an officer who was just reminded of her own beloved android so soon after its death.

 

Allen turns his head to the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, eyes widening as Connor approaches the both of you.

 

“Captain Allen, we need your guidance on how to proceed with the hostage situation,” Connor says, the sound of his voice drawing your gaze to him. He looked surreal through your tears, the bright blue lighting of the fish tank mixing with the fluorescent lights in his jacket.

 

_It’s not my Connor. It’s not him. This Connor…_

 

_It’s not my Connor?_

 

“I’ll be there in a sec,” Allen replies, a look of relief crossing his face as Connor disappears around the corner. He turns his gaze back to you, hands leaving your shoulders.

 

“Go home, okay? I’m… I’m sorry you had to see this.” He offers you a solemn smile, knowing how it felt to “see a ghost” of a loved one so quickly after their death. You make your way to the exit, sobs echoing in the confines of the elevator as the metal doors slide shut around you.  



	9. 009 : memory bank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin lets Noelle stay at his house until they clear the crime scene. She remembers things that make her heart hurt.
> 
> Word Count: 3764

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY FO RNOT UPDATING UNI IS KICKING MY ASS ABFJDK i planned out like 5 more chapters though so i'm ahead of the agme i swear guys ple Aase
> 
> thank u so much for reading 2:00:01! i know this chapter is a short one but i didnt want to cram this next arc of you at gavin's house in one massive chapter!! so hopefully it'll be more spaced out. i love u guys sm
> 
> follow me on tungle at @lanico-writes!

**16 AUGUST, 2038.** 1:04 a.m. — **GAVIN REED’S APARTMENT** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

* * *

 

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you mumble, wiping the remaining tears from your eyes. His jacket somehow ended up draped over your shoulders when you came back to your apartment sobbing and unable to hold yourself up. Gavin couldn’t have lived with himself if you stayed at a hotel while the cops still perused your apartment and gladly offered up his house until it was over.

 

You don’t remember much else since he practically carried you back to his car, your sobs quieting as you dozed off. You’d cried so much you tuckered yourself out, the soft snoozes coming from you all too cute as Gavin sped home.

 

He hesitates before nodding curtly, arms crossed as he leans against the doorway. “You can take my bed,” he says, though it sounds like more of a command than a suggestion. You shake your head.

 

“N-no, Gavin, I can sleep on the—”

 

He raises his hand, cutting you off. “You’re taking my bed. I’m taking the couch. Now go,” he gestures down the hall to the cracked open door. Frowning, you stand up from the plush leather couch.

 

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you softly tell him, eyes downcast as you stand in front of him. You watch as he takes a step towards you and look up just in time to see his oddly concerned frown.

 

“You’re never a bother.” He’s calm, choosing his words very carefully. He breaks your gaze when he looks off to the side, cheeks flushing a soft pink. “Don’t get any funny ideas, though.”

 

Now you’re blushing. At the same time, you can’t help but smile and stifle a giggle with your hand, thanking Gavin softly before making your way with your overnight bag to his room. You feel his eyes on your back as you make your way down the hall, your cheeks turning crimson.

 

The moment you push open the door to Gavin’s room, you’re shocked to see how much it’s changed from the first time you were in here.

 

No longer were the walls decorated with old rock band posters and post-teenage angst — the calm cream colors on the wall complemented the dark blues and browns of his furniture. Vintage records hang neatly on the wall adjacent to his bed, their covers resting on his desk. _He probably hung those recently,_ you note, eyes scanning the rest of his room.

 

His bookshelf is rather full for someone you never see reading. You peruse the spines of the books — _House of Leaves, Anthem, Atlas Shrugged, 1984, Harry Potter?_ — and find your fingers lingering on none other than a high school yearbook from 2020.

 

A part of you feels like you’d be invading his privacy, but _it probably won’t hurt to take a peek, will it?_

 

Sliding the book from the shelf, you crack it open and see the colorful handwriting from what you assume were Gavin’s classmates. A wave of nostalgia rushes over you and you can’t help but smile, plopping down on his bed with the book in your lap. You take the time to read all the silly letters from his friends, the doodles on the pages and the notes next to pictures.

 

_“Biggest weenie in the world”_ is written with an arrow pointing at a male student, Jacob Burns. Underneath it is a poorly drawn emoji of a crying laughing face. You chuckle, flipping through the pages until you finally spy Gavin’s senior picture.

 

You feel your heart flutter at the cocksure smirk on his face, those piercing blue eyes holding that familiar air of confidence he carries with him today. If he had been sitting next to you, you would’ve laughed at his shaggy hair and the fact his tie was uneven, but you know damn well your high school self would’ve fallen for him in a heartbeat.

 

At the time, you would’ve been 10 years old. _Maybe he could’ve been my babysitter?_ You chuckle at the thought, lingering on the photo a couple moments longer before flipping through the rest of the book.

 

Eventually you come across the extracurricular activities section, eyes scanning the various sports teams until you see that same shaggy mop on the soccer team. And the football team. _And the basketball team?_ You flip a couple more pages and see he was on the speech and debate team as well.

 

“Jeez, Gav,” you laugh in amazement at how much he had on his plate his senior year. Your high school years definitely pale in comparison to his. Sure, you were apart of a couple clubs, but nothing extremely prevalent. A member of Dead Poet’s Society wasn’t exactly something to gloat over.

 

You have to do a double take on the robotics club spread, not because of Gavin, but because this was none other than the legend himself helping out kids from Gavin’s high school.

 

Elijah Kamski is in Gavin’s yearbook. _Jeez, I never noticed until now, but they look scarily alike,_ you muse, frowning as you stare at the photos. They’re uncannily similar.

 

You’re startled at the creak of the door, looking up to see Gavin. He’s smiling for only a moment before he sees what’s in your hands, eyes widening as he snatches it from you. He immediately seats it back in the bookshelf, shoulders tense as you gawk at him.

 

“I was reading that, Gavin—”

 

“Don’t fuckin’ snoop through my stuff, capiche?” The sudden coldness has you reeling. What did I do? Confused, you stand up from the edge of the bed, reaching out a cautious hand to grasp Gavin’s bicep, but he snaps it away from you.

 

“Why are you so mad? It’s just your high school yearbook!”

 

Gavin’s frown deepens as he turns his gaze to you, jaw clenched. “You wouldn’t get it.”

 

“Is it because I didn’t ask permission?” He doesn’t reply, his staring making you more on edge. “Gavin, please help me understand—”

 

“Just drop it, yeah? It’s better that way.”

 

“Is it Kamski?”

 

The mention of his half-brother has him clenching his fists, his heart rate increasing as he bangs his fist against the wall. You tumble back onto the edge of the bed, eyes wide at the rage seething from him. You’re not sure what to do — panic? Apologize? Cry? _No, no, that’ll make it worse._

 

He hisses something akin to ‘fuck’ before storming out of the room, head in his hands. You immediately stand up, leaning out of the doorframe and watching as he stomped back into the den. Your heart hurts.

 

You turn around to look at the bookshelf again, stroking its spine delicately.

 

_What secrets are you hiding, hm?_ You’re tempted to tug the book from the shelf again, but you reluctantly let your hand drop back to your side. Pissing Gavin off again probably isn’t the best option, you tell yourself, opting to turn in for the night.

 

—♡—

 

You don’t remember where you are when you wake up, mind hazy. Soft blue light filters in through the curtains, illuminating the white sheets. Rubbing your eyes doesn’t take the fogginess away even as you peer around the room, your memory slowly coming back to you.

 

You’re in Gavin’s bed. You’re at his house. You were at a hostage scene. You saw Connor—

 

Tears immediately threaten to spill from your eyes again at the brief thought of his name.

 

_Connor. Connor, oh, God… I’m so sorry, Connor. I’m so sorry._ You remember crying these words into his hair, not caring if you got thirium all over you. You remember cradling his body, Gavin calling the police, his thirium staining your clothes, the dead look in his eyes—

 

You hurriedly sit up, shaking the thoughts of your deceased lover from your head. If Hank were here right now, he’d say you look like you need a drink.

 

The kitchen isn’t too far from Gavin’s room, if you remembered correctly. _It was just down the hall, right?_ As you slide out of bed, your limbs protest against the gravity weighing you down. You look down at your stomach, sighing in annoyance at your childish insecurities before slowly inching the door open.

 

The wooden floor of the hallway is cold against your feet as you gently step onto the panels, a strip of moonlight guiding you.

 

You hadn’t noticed all the picture frames that lined the walls of his hallway when you first came in. Looking at them now in the 3 a.m. lighting makes them seem surreal.

 

The first photo is one of a young Gavin and his parents. _Goodness, he was adorable as a kid_ — those chubby cheeks would’ve knocked kid you head over heels for him. A smile dances on your lips as you move to the next photo.

 

Your heart flutters; this one was a few years ago, when Tina insisted on documenting your “rookie years.” You remember asking Gavin about this case file — specifically some illegible scrawl of his — and he told you to figure it out with a sly grin. You look closer at the picture and see he’s not even paying attention to the file — he’s looking at you with a small smile on his face.

 

Blushing, one hand goes to your cheek as a gentle warmth floods your chest.

 

Another photo of you and Gavin, except you were with some other officers. You threw up a peace sign and Gavin had his hands in his pockets. You know you’ve seen this photo where he’s smiling — a part of you wonders why he put up the one where he’s not even looking at the camera, but then it hits you.

 

He’s looking at you in this photo, too.

 

Your face grows hotter the more you think about the fact he put up these photos in particular, so you move to the next one.

 

Gavin is hugging you in this one. You pause for a moment, forgetting the context.

 

_This was promotion, wasn’t it?_ Your fingers gently graze the frame as you look at it, smiling softly.

 

It’s the last photo of the two of you that has your heart about to pound out of your chest.

 

_Officer Miller’s wedding._

 

Tina had insisted on dressing you up to be “prettier than the bride” that day, specifically for Gavin Reed (although Tina refused to admit she was trying to get the two of you together). You wore a gorgeous white dress, gentle dark curls framing your face. Your makeup was perfect that day; the pounding of your heart grows louder with every passing second as you recall that day.

 

Gavin stands in front of you mid-twirl. You’re smiling brightly, dress perfectly fanned out and an aura of pure happiness radiating from the two of you. Man, even Gavin smiled in this picture.

 

_He looks so handsome when he smiles_ , you muse, letting out a soft chuckle.

 

* * *

 

  **28 FEBRUARY, 2035.** 11:42 a.m. — **ST. JOSAPHAT CATHOLIC CHURCH** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

“I don’t think I’m allowed to be prettier than the bride, Ms. Chen,” you explain. Tina just laughs, nudging you playfully.

 

“I beg to differ. I know Reed will enjoy it,” she teases.

 

“Ms. Chen, please!” You whine, pouting.

 

When you got out of the car, Tina nudged you and pointed in Gavin’s direction.

 

“He looks like his heart stopped.”

 

“Ms. Chen!” You can’t help the chuckle that slips from your glossy pink lips, swatting her hand down. You turn in Gavin’s direction and see him laughing at the two of you before offering you a wave.

 

You wanted to die in that moment as he excused himself from the group he was in and made his way over to you and Tina. She kept nudging you the closer Gavin got and you swore you were going to bruise by the time he was five feet from you.

 

Before anybody had the chance to speak, Tina loudly announced, “I need to wash my hair!” before walking off and leaving you alone with Gavin.

 

Both of you laughed as Tina made finger guns your way. Gavin turned his gaze back to you, hand scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

 

“Wow, you look… great,” he lamely finishes, noticeably cringing at his word choice.

 

You grin all the same, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear as you look down at your feet. “You don’t look too bad yourself, Reed,” you say, and he finds his face burning at your words.

 

A moment of silence passes before he offers you his hand, head turned away from you. “Wanna check out the venue? I already walked around, but it’s really nice.” He clears his throat, gaze dropping to the ground as you stare at his extended hand.

 

He’s about to put it down when you gently grab it, unconsciously lacing your fingers together.

 

He looks up to find you smiling. “Sure,” you nod, and he returns the gesture. Hesitation gone, he leads you to the side of the church, Tina grinning your way as you stick your tongue out at her.

 

He takes you to the dining area and the stage before heading towards the cute secret garden in the back.

 

You’re immediately enamored with the trellis of vines and the white gazebo covered in lush flowers, taking a seat on the wooden bench. Gavin sits across from you, watching you gingerly as you marvel at the scenery.

 

He takes out his phone and nudges your foot with his, a silent instruction to smile for the camera. At first, you laugh at the fact he wants a picture of you, but you smile anyways with your hands in your lap and your head tilted to the side. Gavin’s smile grows as he lowers his hands back into his lap, gazing dreamily at his screen.

 

“Do I look good?” Your voice startles him out of his trance and he smirks, shoving his phone back into his breast pocket.

 

“You look horrible. You blinked in the picture,” he lies, and bursts into laughter the moment you whine for him to delete it. You try reaching for his phone only for him to catch your hand by the wrist. He lowers your hand down, staring at how small your hands are compared to his before tugging you along again to the wedding area.

 

“I wanna get married here,” you offhandedly comment, gesturing to all the flowers. “It’s so pretty.”

 

His eyes never leave your face as you say these things, his straight face turning into a loving smile as he drops his gaze back down to his lap.

 

“We can, if you want.” He mumbles, not realizing the grave mistake he made until a second later. His eyes widen and he moves to hurriedly correct himself until you speak first.

 

“I’d like that, Gav,” you turn to him, cheeks burning pink and the biggest of smiles on your face.

 

—♡—

 

Gavin’s hand brushes yours as Officer Person walks down the aisle and you pause before hesitantly intertwining your fingers with his. The two of you watch officers Person and Miller exchange their vows.

 

You both clap when they kiss and you can’t help but look up at Gavin for a brief moment, imagining you were the ones under the arch before directing your attention back to the newlyweds.

 

The reception tugs the two of you apart in a whirlwind of greetings, hugs and congratulations over expensive food. Gavin isn’t seated at the same table as you, much to your dismay, and Tina makes sure to rub it in.

 

“Gavin is looking over here, Noelle.”

 

You glare at her. “No, he’s not.”

 

She grins, peering over at Gavin’s table again. “Gavin is _still_ looking at you.”

 

Sighing loudly, you focus your attention back on your food, only to have Tina shaking your shoulder.

 

“Gavin is looking at you, Noelle!” This time, Tina speaks with more urgency. You look up to appease her and your heart stops when you see Gavin standing up, beginning to make his way over to you. You give a panicked glance at Tina, who practically shoves you out of your chair when Gavin approaches your chair.

 

“Go dance!” She whispers loudly enough for Gavin to hear as well, the man laughing at Tina’s antics. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of the music playing, looking from Tina to Gavin before standing up, pretending to brush yourself off as Gavin holds his hand out to you.

 

“I’m not really one for formalities, so… wanna dance?” He sheepishly asks you, avoiding your eyes. He’s about to retract his hand when you take it in yours, a goofy smile on your face.

 

“Of course, Gavin.”

 

His cheeks burn and his heart speeds up but he can’t let his confidence waver now, straightening up and putting on that cocksure smirk of his before walking you out to the dance floor.

 

It’s a bit awkward at first but eventually you lose yourself in the music with him, singing off-key and dancing like nobody’s watching. You’re laughing by the time another upbeat pop song ends, meeting eyes with a grinning Gavin.

 

The DJ is the one to interrupt the steady course of pop with a slower song. The adrenaline seems to wear off instantly and you’re nervous all over again, looking up at Gavin with pursed lips.

 

“I— _uhh_ — should we go sit? Like, down?” You shakily gesture to the rather empty tables, hoping he gets the hint that you’re not sure your heart can take slow dancing with him. Instead, Gavin holds out his hand again, unable to hide the quirk of his lips.

 

“Wanna slow dance, Adelson?”

 

You just about collapse because your knees are shaking like a newborn fawn, but Gavin steadies you with his hands on your waist. You’re avoiding his gaze because you’re so nervous, feet moving in time with his. Maybe if you focus on anything but him, the song will be over quicker—

 

He cups your chin, gently turning your face towards him. You’re frozen, mouth slightly agape and cheeks burning as he brushes a lock of hair behind your ear.

 

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” He speaks so softly and sincerely you’re not even sure it’s Gavin speaking, eyes widening at his confession.

 

_Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. Gavin called me beautiful. Am I beautiful? Oh my goodness, is he leaning closer to me?_

 

In the midst of your overthinking, Gavin presses his lips softly against yours. The stars seem to align in this moment, everything feeling so perfectly right and amazing as you slowly placed a hand on Gavin’s cheek, leaning into the kiss.

 

He pulls away much earlier than you would’ve liked, but you’re experiencing so many emotions that you’re about to short circuit. Gavin smirks at your apparent confusion, finding it endearing as he gently rests his forehead against yours, lacing his fingers with yours as you continue to sway to the soothing beat of the song.

 

* * *

 

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears plop onto the skin of your arms, moving to cross your arms over your chest.

 

_What happened? Why am I hurting so much? Why does my heart ache? Why do I want him so badly?_ These questions echo in your mind as you rub the tears from your eyes, padding back to your room and flopping back down on the bed.

 

You want to cry but as you slide back under the covers, Gavin’s scent envelops you and you’re overwhelmed by the urge to slide your hand between your legs, tears streaming quietly down your face. You’re hesitant at first, finding the idea of touching yourself to Gavin wrong — enough to make you feel _guilty._ At the same time, you can’t help yourself, mewling as your fingers press against your clit.

 

His smile. The way he held you. The way he kissed you. _Gavin, Gavin, Gavin —_ You keen softly, back arching and hips bucking into your hand. This feels wrong, this feels so, _so_ wrong, but you want him and need him and you can’t deny yourself the pleasure anymore.

 

Gavin’s name rolls off your tongue like a mantra, quiet whispers as you slip a finger inside of you, shuddering. The tears don’t stop; your eyes crack open for only a second, vision blurry as you press your thumb against your clit and slide another finger in—

 

“Nnh—!” The rings of muscle contract around your digits, pulling them deeper inside. You’re panting, your free hand sliding up your shirt to toy with your hardening nipples. All you’re picturing is _Gavin_ , _Gavin_ doing these things to you, _Gavin_ making you moan his name, _Gavin_ pushing himself inside you.

 

You cum with his name on your lips, release staining your fingers and the sheets as you slowly ease them out of you.

 

—♡—

 

Gavin’s face is beet red and he hates himself for listening, for getting hard at the sound of your needy and breathy moans. He hates himself for palming his cock through his pajama pants in time with you, and he hates himself for pulling up that picture of you at Officer Miller’s wedding under the gazebo.

 

Your smile is consuming him, the way you coyly looked at him in that picture — _God,_ he feels so _wrong_ jacking off to a perfectly innocent photo. After hearing you moan his name like that… he couldn’t help himself.

 

Through half-lidded eyes he strokes himself with fervor, clenching his jaw to try and stay quiet. He can barely keep his phone steady with his other hand but he’s practically got your visage etched into his mind. Even as his eyes water from a mix of pleasure, longing, and disgust with his actions, he can still see you smiling clearly at him.

 

“Fuck,” he breathes, running his thumb over the head of his cock. He bucks his hips into his slick hand, the added friction drawing his orgasm out that much quicker. The sound of your moans cycle through his brain once more, imagining how good he could make you feel with _his_ fingers, _his_ mouth, _his_ cock—

 

“Nngh!” His dick twitches in his hand, cum shooting onto his phone screen, his hand and his pajama pants. Gavin breathes heavily through his nose, riding out his orgasm with his hand and your smile on his mind.

 

When he’s done cleaning himself up and he finally climbs back into bed, the guilt of ruining a perfectly innocent moment settles in with the coming of sleep.


	10. 010 : stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamski gets mad. AA-200 (Damon) has a plan to change everything. Noelle is horrified at her morning discovery.
> 
> Word Count: 4133

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR NOT UPdATinG IN LIKE TWO MONThs sHsOhsdjkdfsjk oh my GOHDjdf
> 
> anyways this chapter is a lil bit of plot to keep this train moving and i've been working on it for too long i'm so fuckin sorry. regardless, here this baby is, and i hope it's okay :')))) highkey planning on writing a michael langdon fanfic rn so DONT MIN DME
> 
> follow me on tumblr @ lanico-writes!

**16 AUGUST, 2018.** Unknown time. — [REDACTED], Detroit, Michigan.

 

* * *

 

“Damon, you insubordinate piece of _shit,_ why did you change plans?!” The AA-200 has never seen Elijah Kamski so furious, so unhinged over a slight adjustment. It’s not like he didn’t have his reasons — he saw a better way to do things and switched his aim.

 

He remembers the confused look Connor gave him when he stepped into the apartment, hands raised in surrender as he closed the door behind him.

 

 _“_ _I’m_ _not gonna hurt you, RK-800,” he states, arms back at his sides. “_ _I’m_ _here to_ _make a deal.”_

 

 _Connor, perplexed, stops what he’s doing and turns to_ _face_ _Damon, brow furrowing. “You tried to kill me in Spring Lake. I have no reason to trust you.”_

 

 _“And that’s why you should — I know you’re a deviant. I knew when we exchanged data. I am not sure how, but your…_ deviancy… _rubbed off on me.” Damon trails off, eyes drooping as he cards his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, hunting you down and working for Elijah Kamski. I don’t know.”_

 

 _Connor relaxes. Shifts around before approaching_ _the_ _other android and offering his hand. Damon meets him halfway, hands lacing together as their artificial skin peels back, revealing white plastic. For a moment, it’s quiet, data flashing behind closed eyelids before Connor suddenly tears out of his grasp, eyes wide._

 

_“I didn’t know how else to tell you, but you’re—”_

 

_“Don’t— Don’t say it, please. Please.” Connor begs, jaw tense as he leans against the table. Damon stares at him, turning his head and clasping his hands behind his back._

 

_“So, will you help me, RK-800?”_

 

_“If I don’t, she’ll die, won’t she?”_

 

“Damon, are you listening to me? Go make yourself useful while I figure out how to unfuck what you just ruined,” Kamski hisses, shooing him away. When Damon doesn’t move, a Chloe approaches from the hallway, shooting him a disdainful look as she crosses her arms.

 

He says nothing, turning on his heel and making his way to his quarters. As soon as the door closes behind him, he lets out a noise of relief. Damon knows Connor is safe, even if he’s far away.

 

_{{ : Elijah Kamski believes you’re dead. This is great, isn’t it?_

 

_|| : Can I go back to Noelle now? It hurts me to see her so upset, Damon._

 

_{{ : No. That would ruin the entire plan. We have to lay low for a while._

 

 _|| : Where? There’s no place we can go!_ Damon can hear the franticness in Connor’s voice.

 

_{{ : You ever heard of Jericho, Connor?_

 

Damon gets nothing but silence on the other end. They hadn’t been compromised that quickly, had they? There’s no way; he made sure he hid his tracks.

 

 _“Go make yourself useful”_ echoes at the front of his memory. Connor’s desire to see you again is genuine, _powerful_ — Damon could feel it in his wires that the android really did care about you, something he still failed to understand.

 

_What about you was so lovely?_

 

Damon wonders this as he sits dormant in the metal chair, images of you flashing across his vision. Your name is all over recent files of Kamski’s, something about you and his half-brother. Pictures, videos, surveillance footage, audio recordings — so much about you in one folder.

 

As he listens to and observes you, Connor’s devotion to you seems less and less unreasonable.

 

A half-smirk makes its way onto his face as he loses himself in the sea of your image.

 

—♡—

 

7:04 a.m. — **GAVIN REED’S APARTMENT** , Detroit, Michigan.

 

You wake a few hours later feeling groggy as all hell, bright sunlight filtering in through the curtains. After reminiscing in the hallway earlier this morning, your heart felt heavy. You will the remnants of sleep to go away as you clamber out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and sliding your glasses onto your face.

 

The smell of toast revived you. Mouth watering at food, you peer into the kitchen to find Gavin putting two more pieces of bread in the toaster. He doesn’t hear you pad across the tile; you note his adorable bedhead and wifebeater that so perfectly clung to his muscles.

 

Your mind wanders back to the time at the beach, your head on his chest as you watched the sunset; you can’t help but smile as you take a seat at the table. The scoot of the chair turns Gavin’s attention to you, a hint of a blush on his cheeks as his eyes rake over your form.

 

T-shirt hanging off your frame, you don’t notice the way he lingers on your freckled shoulder or the curve of your collarbones. You’re too busy slathering butter on your toast. A warm smile blossoms on his lips and remains even as he turns away from you.

 

“Sleep well?” Gavin asks, grabbing two pieces of toast and putting them on a plate. You put your chin in your hand, toast in your other as you nibble on the buttered treat.

 

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” you admit, thinking back to the pictures in the hallway. “Drifted off around 4 a.m., I think.”

 

At that, Gavin feels blood rush between his legs, and he clenches his jaw as he brings his plate over. The sounds of your moans echo in his head, the mewls of his name, the image of you _pleasuring yourself to him_ —

 

“Gav?” Your voice startles him out of his trance and he blinks a few times before taking a bite of his toast. There’s a few moments of silence as he chews, eyes trained on the table.

 

His gaze flicker up to yours. “‘m fine, blossom butt. Eat your breakfast — we gotta get to work.”

 

 _Oh, that’s right. It’s Monday._ Usually, you had Connor to remind you of these things; the void in your heart aches as you stare down at your toast, thoughts racing. Time had ceased to matter to you after stumbling upon Connor’s corpse — nothing had felt real since then. His visage haunted you, what, with that copycat running around saving little girls from rogue androids and pretending to not know you.

 

He’d been so cold, so distant, but he looked just like him. Even now, your brain knows the two are separate, but your longing heart wants nothing more than to reunite with the android.

 

Coming back into reality, the half-eaten slice of toast doesn’t seem so appetizing anymore. All hunger forgotten, you abruptly dismiss yourself from the table and change into your work clothes.

 

Gavin’s protests about not finishing your meal fell on deaf ears as you closed his door behind you, lips pulled into a thin line. _It might be cold again_ , you tell yourself, not bothering to check the weather. Instead, you tug off the sleep shirt and slide on your gray precinct hoodie. Your jeans, faded and ratty as they were, held the pieces of you together in a nice, curvy package. You’d left your shoes by the door, as Gavin insisted on not dragging dirt in the house (despite the fact he then got the elements on his carpet by not taking off his shoes).

 

You let out a strained sigh as you grabbed your toiletries, a crumpled Polaroid fluttering back into your duffle. Confused, you reach into your bag and fish out the photo, only to scream and throw it as if it was covered in blood.

 

That… wasn’t anything you’d ever taken. _That…_

 

You make your way over to the Polaroid again, picking it up with shaky hands. If you weren’t mistaken, that was you. Sleeping. In Gavin’s bed. _Last night._

 

You hear the door being pushed open and Gavin’s footfalls stop as you turn around, shaking hands never letting go of the picture.

 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Worry in his tone, Gavin moves to examine what you’re holding and stops cold in his tracks. “Where did you get that?”

 

“Did you take this?” You ask, voice small.

 

“The fuck? Of course not! What kind of person do you think I am?” He growls, in disbelief you’d even accuse him of something like that.

 

“Who else could have?! Nobody… N-Nobody knows I’m here, Gavin, nobody...” You trail off, tears freezing in your eyes as you kneel next to your bag, rummaging through it. You pull out another foreign object and the frozen teardrops pour down your face.

 

This photo, unlike the first one, is of Connor while he’s being dismembered. Rage, terror and shock flow through you all at once and you clutch the picture with both fists; the horrible way Connor contorts in pain as the assailant rips his limbs from their sockets brings you to the edge of a panic attack.

 

Gavin reaches to take the picture from your hands but you hold it close against your breast, bawling on the floor. He kneels next to you, pulling you into his strong arms and holding you against his chest.

 

The photograph doesn’t fall from your grip as you reach around him, crying into the crook of his neck.

 

Something here is very, very wrong.

 

—♡—

 

Gavin insisted on bringing you into work with him, fearing you’d hurt yourself if he left you alone. You let him drag you with him, but only after he made you clean yourself up. While brushing your teeth, you’d nearly broke into a fit of sobs again. Gavin had to stroke your back to get you through the rest of your morning duties.

 

While you had been cleaning up, Gavin searched your bag again and found more pictures. The most notable: a lock of your hair bundled with a note that read ‘WE ARE WATCHING’ in perfect, crisp red pen.

 

He didn’t want to upset you any more than you already were, instead putting the objects into a plastic bag and hiding them inside his jacket. His heart ached as he watched you climb into the car, eyes still puffy from crying and your dark circles ever so prominent. It hurts to see you like this, and he wants to let you know _he’s here for you_ , that _he’d do anything to protect you…_

 

But he doesn’t, instead starting up his Charger and beginning the journey to the precinct.

 

The ride to the station is quiet, with you dozing off to the soft rock on the radio. Gavin steals glances at you every so often, feelings a mess as he tries to decipher what he wants. It started as a selfish desire to have you back; now, that overwhelming passion that blossomed in his chest all those years ago returns stronger and unrelenting.

  
God, he _loves_ you — he cares for you so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself except shut down, unsure of how to proceed. He wants to push you away, to drive these consuming thoughts out of his head, but his heart knows better. He won’t lose you again.

  
Gavin’s gentle shake of your shoulders rouses you from your sleep, his voice a muffled confusion to your waking ears.

  
“...’re here, blossom butt. Wake up,” he nudges you again, moving back as he sees you stir and open your eyes.

  
You muster a yawn and an easy smile that has his heart fluttering before getting out of the car and walking into the precinct beside him. Although none of you say a word, something tells you Gavin won’t leave your side today. His hand brushes against yours and you lace one of your fingers with his, a silent exchange of mutual understanding.

  
You scan your badges and head through those familiar glass doors. It feels like it’s been years since you’ve been here; the air is different, the atmosphere heavier. Fowler is clacking away in his glass box, and Officer Miller lounges at his desk, playing a game on his phone. You make your way to your desk, the comfortable sight of the cubicle calming you as you sit in your chair.

  
You don’t notice when Gavin leaves, brain switching to autopilot. It always did when writing up reports, the task comparable to an intricate game of Mad Libs. _At least you won’t have to worry about falling behind on reports…_

  
So, you shut your brain off and let your body do the rest of the work, choosing instead to wander back into the deep recesses of your mind. _Do I give it to evidence? Does it even count as a case? I mean, it does have to do with Connor… at least, I think it does._

 

—♡—

 

It’s noon by the time you’re startled out of your work trance by none other than Gavin, who asks if you want to grab lunch. Still disoriented, you wait a moment before opening your mouth to reply, the sound of footsteps cutting through your thoughts.

 

Both of you glance toward the approaching noise and you instantly wish you hadn’t. Gavin tenses in your peripherals, hand gripping the back of your chair as none other than the copycat Connor glides past your desk, not sparing you a glance. He steps into Fowler’s office without so much as a sound.

 

You’re not sure whether you want to glare at this ghost for using your lover’s image, or… or…

 

Your chair screeches as you leave your desk, both Connor and Fowler watching you stomp toward the evidence room. When you reach the bench along the wall, you’re about to sit down until those same footsteps echo behind you. Fear floods your body as you frantically key yourself into the evidence room away from your pursuer.

 

The deeper down the rabbit hole you go, the more your anxiety lessens, gone when you cross the last step into the muted blue room.

 

 _Maybe looking at stuff from other cases will calm me down_ , you reason, plunking in your password and finding relief at the sight of everything neatly arranged in glass shelves —

 

Except the mangled android corpse, of course.

 

This time, you’re not afraid. You don’t vomit; you don’t burst into tears — you stare at Connor, _your_ Connor’s body, hanging on the evidence wall like a hunting trophy. Stepping closer to him, you get within arm’s reach. You pick up his limp hand, placing the cold appendage against your cheek as you let a single tear fall.

 

“What happened, Connor?” You ask, gazing into those empty brown eyes of his. “Please,” you breathe, putting a hand on his chest before hugging the mix of plastic and wires. “Please help me understand.”

 

As you pull away, a part of him clatters to the ground, startling you as you clutch your chest. At your feet is his thirium pump, a startling blue against the boring floors of the evidence room. You pick it up, being careful to not get any of the glowing blue on your clothes as you try to slide it back into his stomach.

 

You frown. It slides back into your hands. You try pushing it again, sighing before taking it out and peering inside his chest cavity. Hidden behind an intricate white mesh of circuits are networks of blue wiring, tiny slivers of metal decorating his insides with silver and gold. On the right, a foreign object disrupts the mesh; it takes effort but you yank it out with your fingers, wincing at the thought of possible damage.

 

You flip the object over and, eyes wide, read the label:

 

 **HR-800** **MEMORY**

 

in your handwriting.

 

This was your flashdrive.

 

 _When did Connor get it?_ You take a moment to ponder it, pocketing the flashdrive and easing his thirium pump back into its cavity. _A new clue, huh?_

 

Your fingers tingle as you log out of the evidence locker, walking up the stairs with a strange mix of wonder and confusion written on your face.

 

_Why did Connor have my flashdrive?_

 

The question burns in your throat as you stare over the rectangle USB, brows furrowing the longer you look at it.

 

Even after you close the door to the evidence room behind you, your can’t grasp why he’d be keeping so trivial —

 

You bump into something as you walk, thinking it was too plush to be a wall. Looking up and preparing to apologize to whoever it was you ran into, your mouth dries out as you come face to face with Connor-52.

 

Up close, you can see the differences between your Connor and this one. Connor-52 has stern brown eyes, coiffed hair, and a methodical mien; Connor-49 had soft chocolate hues and loose-fitting t-shirts you’d thrifted from the Goodwill by your house.

 

“Excuse me, Miss Adelson,” Connor-52 says, stepping back and brushing off the front of his blazer. “It’s nice to meet you again.”

 

“Can’t say the same,” you rasp, crossing your arms. It’s too hard to look him in the eyes, so you settle for staring at his shoes. They’re so clean you can almost catch your reflection in them.

 

“I’m sorry to hear that. May I inquire why you abruptly left your desk?” Robotic and calculating as he is, he sounds… human, save for the awkward way of speaking.

 

You say nothing, choosing to walk past him until he places a hand on your arm. You stop mid-step, frowning as you turn back to look at him. Your brain forms no coherent sentences as you stare him in the eyes, heart racing.

 

“Miss Adelson, I’m not sure of your feelings towards me, but I can assure you that I will not cause any problems for you when I begin work here.” He states, a smile gracing his features.

 

“What?” Now you can talk, eyes widening and mouth falling open. The realization hits you a slower than you liked. _Connor shows up to talk to Fowler. Why is he here? He reported everything back to Cyberlife, right? So…_

 

Another voice interrupts your conversation. _Fowler._

 

“Connor? Connor — _oh, there you are_ — ah, you met Adelson? Swell. We’ll be expecting you back in November,” Fowler told Connor, to which the android nodded in response. Connor lets go of your arm without a word and heads out of the hallway, leaving you and Fowler in the cramped space.

 

Neither of you say anything; instead, Fowler takes the time to give you the disapproving frown like always before mumbling a monotone “get back to work, Adelson”. With Fowler gone, you’re left alone again.

 

—♡—

 

You’re not sure what you expect to see on the flashdrive, but absolutely nothing? That’s what hits you as strange. There’s no way it’s blank. You click around in your terminal, right clicking and left clicking in the empty folder. The storage says it’s filled to the brim with information, yet you can’t see anything.

 

Sighing, you eject the flashdrive, pocketing it and leaving the whole situation for later.

 

_What a waste._

 

—♡—

 

You go back to Gavin’s that night rather irked, stewing over your plate of spaghetti with a frown. Gavin sits across from you, quiet, knowing you’ll snap at him if he says anything. You know he wants to say something, his hands fidgeting as he mindlessly swirls the noodles around his fork.

 

The spaghetti taunts you as you stab the meatball with your fork. First, the creepy stalker photos ruined your morning; then, Connor-52 had to make himself known; and finally, the empty flashdrive you were sure would hold answers to Connor’s murder.

 

Gavin decides to take a risk when he reaches across the table, his warm hand overlapping your shaking one.

 

“You good, Adelson?” The baritone of his voice has you reeling in your anger, shoulders slumping as you drag your gaze up to meet his. He’s worried, that much is obvious. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

 

“I’m—” You pause, contemplating the lie about to slip through your teeth. Gavin knows you too well; he wouldn’t stop pestering you if you didn’t eat. His quirks just have to be an inconvenience to you right now, in _this_ very moment, when you want nothing more than to disappear.

 

Sighing, you bring the meatball up to your mouth, biting it while hoping you hide your grimace. Eating without an appetite makes everything taste sub-par. You’ve come to realize that the more you try to force food down your throat.

 

Gavin seems pleased at the sight of you eating, even if you are taking dainty bites. It’s enough to get him off your ass — for now, anyways. With a pleased grunt, he’s back to eating his own plate, devouring the buttered pasta like there’s no tomorrow.

 

You’re still staring down at your half-full plate by 11 p.m. The pasta is cold by now, noodles hardening. Gavin’s on the couch watching Jeopardy, growing frustrated the more answers he gets wrong. You make the decision to join him on a whim as you’re putting your dish away, plopping down on the other end of the couch with your legs to your side.

 

Gavin glances at the shift in the cushions, gaze lingering on your exposed legs for a moment too long before he turns back to the television, refocusing on the game.

 

_“This 3-named economist wrote the influential 1936 work ‘General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money’...”_

 

Gavin frowns, clearly at a loss. “Fuckin’, who? Al Gore? Nah, that guy was climate change or somethin’...” He mumbles to himself. You can’t help but watch his deliberation with a smile on your face.

 

“It’s Keynes, Gav,” you say softly, and he perks up at the last second, facepalming. He shakes his hand back and forth at the screen, reassuring himself (and maybe you) that he “knew that” and he was “just testing you.” You laugh and he shoots you a playful glare, your giggles only increasing at the sheer anger on his face. You could kiss him with how absolutely adorable he looks, what, with his pouty lips and furrowed brows and those eyes — those intense, _stormy_ eyes of his that shake your core. Seeing him now, with the light of the TV illuminating his features, you want to do just that.

 

“Stop starin’ at me, fuckin’ weirdo,” Gavin breaks the moment with a wave of his hand, but you don’t fail to catch the color in his cheeks as he turns away. Swinging your legs  in front of you, you stand up and sit right next to Gavin, his eyes wide at the intrusion of his space. “What are you doin’?”

 

His tone sounds closer to a warning, but of course, you don’t heed it. He’s looking awfully inviting and you’re going to take advantage of it, head resting on his shoulder and chest pressed against his arm. His muscles tense at the contact but you barely notice, eyelids fluttering shut.

 

He’s quiet for a moment before he asks you again, more trepidation in his voice. “What’re you doin’, Adelson, huh?”

 

Everything feels... different. Cloudy. You stare back at him. His chest rises and falls in time with your breaths; he lets out a sigh, eyes never leaving yours as he cracks half a smile.

 

“You’re awfully tempting when you stare at me through those lashes of yours, doll,” he breathes, blush creeping up on your cheeks.

 

Not even a second passes before he’s leaning in, stubble ghosting your skin as his lips press against yours. They’re warm, so soft and firm and _inviting_ that you let him ease you down onto the couch, his lips melding with yours. His tongue slides against your bottom lip and you tangle your hands in his hair, tugging those brunet locks out of their usual style.

 

You part from him for only a moment but it’s long enough to see how his hair hangs in his eyes, his chest heaving with bated breath, and the beginnings of an erection pressing against your leg.

 

You _should_ let him take you right now, tug your shorts and panties down and _plunge_ into your aching core —

 

“Adelson,” his voice snaps you back into reality. You feel it now; he’s shaking your shoulder, only stopping when you stir. _A dream... Oh, no, why am I like this? About Gavin? Is this payback for last night?_

 

Your sleepy gaze meets his and you manage a lazy grin, chin resting on his shoulder. “I didn’t realize I fell asleep.”

 

The drowsiness in your voice has Gavin smiling, his hand going to stroke your cheek. He only realizes what he’s doing when you lean your head into his hand like a cat. Almost immediately he tugs his hand away, clearing his throat and standing up from the couch.

 

“I-I’m going to bed,” he manages, leaving you on the couch confused. You watch his figure as he goes, listening to the click of the door and letting out a sigh.

 

 _Guess we won’t be addressing_ that _tonight._


End file.
